I, Draco
by thejealousone
Summary: ..."I’ll give credit where credit is due, Joanne Rowling didn’t lie. Every single word as far as I can tell is 100 percent accurate, but it’s misleading." -Draco Malfoy. He's here to set the record straight.
1. quote

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the color of truth is gray

-andre gide

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	2. Prologue: I, Draco

_I'm only saying this once. I don't own the Harry Potter universe. That honor belongs to J.K. Rowling._

**I, Draco**

Admit it. This is the story you've been waiting to read. You've dined on Potter's novels and have even sipped the wine that was the Weaslette's tale, but you've been hoping the waiter hasn't forgotten the dessert menu. It's sweet, it's mouth-watering, it's delectable, and even though it's fattening and you know you shouldn't, all you want to do is forget your diet and have a taste. Let's face it: dessert is what you've been waiting for.

I, Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius and Narcissa, the husband of Astoria, the father of Scorpius, the golden boy of Slytherin, the pepper to Potter's salt, the bad guy every girl wants to be with and every guy envies, the real hero of the story, am here to grant your wish and set the record straight.

And you know you want the record straightened. You've always felt something was a little off with the famous tale you've been reading to your children. Guess what? You're right. I've heard plenty of bedtime stories in my youth, many of them the same tales you've been telling your children and they'll be telling their children, and so on and so forth. I was told a different version of those stories, ones where instead of whispering the Dark Lord's name in fear, we did so in reverence. But there was an underlying factor linking the retellings other than the characters represented.

_They were all lies._

Not cold, hard, downright lies. You can't possibly brainwash anyone without some kind of truth in the falsehoods. You have to do it with subtly, deception, and misleading. When the children born after the First Wizarding War were told of Harry Potter, they were told of his greatness and his power, his heroics and his glory. Parents were making up adventures for young Harry Potter to go on, tales to keep the tykes satisfied.

No one knew what happened the night James and Lily Potter died, but people guessed... and they guessed wrong. It had nothing to do with Scarhead's great magical fortitude. And the same kind of stories are being told now that the Second Wizarding War has ended. People fail to realize Potter had Dumbledore on his side from the beginning. While you idolized and worshiped people like Albus Dumbledore, we were doing the same with Voldemort. Sprinkling the word 'martyr' on their deaths like they were some kind of gods on earth. But I'll get back to Dumbledore later.

I'll give credit where credit is due. Joanne Rowling didn't lie. Every single word as far as I can tell is 100 percent accurate, but it's misleading. It's misleading to portray Dumbledore as anything more than a self-serving old man who did everything – and anything - possible to reach his goals; it's misleading to claim Potter's Occulmency lessons were anything but an elaborate charade for Snape's sake; and it's misleading, most of all, to show the world in black and white.

That's one of the biggest mistakes. You cannot separate the real world into two convenient, little boxes with one marked 'good' and the other marked 'evil.' It doesn't work that way. There are gray areas and only the best people can admit they struggle with horrible urges every day. People don't wake up one morning and decide to do bad things. Half the followers of Voldemort were scared to death _not_ to follow him. I would know. I was one of them.

That's the major reason why I can't walk through public without the self-righteous stares of those too ignorant to explore another side of the story. I hear the whispers, the indignant accusations that I shouldn't be walking free, but who ever inquired from my point of view? (Not that I would grant you unworthy selves the time of day.) Potter's biographies never once offered the redemption of the people who deserved it. Did you know Blaise Zabini saved more than one student from torture? Did you know Theodore, in efforts to keep his hands and conscience clean, failed every malignant potion the Carrows wanted made for punishing students in our seventh year? Doesn't ring any bells? No, you don't know any of this, because Rowling was only interested in making money. Redeeming "evil" - or should I say redeeming Slytherin - doesn't sell copies, does it?

I'm not saying our side was free of deception. Far from it. But the truth is many, many Voldemort supporters didn't need their arms twisted to join his cause. The desire was already there. The prejudices were already strong. All Voldemort had to promise was a world where the true wizards would rule over the Mudbloods, the Muggles, and the Squibs, and they pulled out their quill and signed right up. To name a few, the Crabbe family, the Goyle family, the Lestranges, especially my insane Aunt Bellatrix.

And then there were the followers who supported his cause, but didn't realize what Voldemort was willing to do to achieve those goals. They pissed their pants, but once they were in, they couldn't leave. That's why most of the Voldemort supporters wiped the sweat off their brow in relief when little Potter miraculously defeated the bad guy the first time around. They could return to their prejudices, fighting advancements with bribes and political influence, where they didn't have to risk their own lives for the cause. They were willing to fight for their beliefs, just not willing to die for them.

So where does the Malfoy family fit into all this shit? I was told from the time I was a baby that Malfoys were a proud family, a respected family, a dignified family, _better_ than everyone. Of course, we considered ourselves superior to all the improper magical families in public, but you never heard my family in private. My parents considered our family superior to even the majority of Pureblood families. That's why it never once settled right with me that my father took orders from Voldemort like he did, that he would subject himself to such ridicule and humiliation. It also didn't help the Dark Lord's reputation later when we all found out he was a Half Blood.

When Father was younger, long before I was born, I imagine he was an eager new member, fresh out of school, angry with so many people for buying into the pro-Muggle propaganda. _More _than willing to do something about it. My mother shared the same ideals, but didn't participate. When I was born, they both seriously reconsidered their lives. You see, Voldemort had a reputation for using his Death Eaters' _babies _for grim purposes. Whereas that might have been the highest honor for Aunt Bellatrix, it didn't set well with my parents.

My Father _hated_ him. And Voldemort fucking _knew_ it. He hated him because of what he was doing to our family, for destroying his wand, for allowing filth like Greyback into the house, for risking my life. I worshiped the ground my father walked on for 16 years, but my faith in him was seriously shaken after he was released from Azkaban the first time. He did absolutely nothing. He had every opportunity to step up and protect his family and plenty of chances to strike the Dark Lord down, but he was weak. He allowed his wife and son to pay for his mistakes. If I hadn't stepped up to do my part, we'd all be dead or rotting in Azkaban. For that, I resent my father.

And then there's me, most importantly. I played a valuable role as well, but we can't have Draco Malfoy, precious Potter's enemy, redeeming himself, can we? I do have Potter's wife to thank for clearing my name a bit. After all these years, I was surprised she still felt she owed me. Rumor has it Rowling herself tried to get her to cut our deal from the story. Hell, I'd believe that, because a good portion of my story was left out. My fans were disappointed.

I deserve recognition. Some would say I changed somewhere during my life, but I deplore using that word to describe myself. "Change" implies I was wrong, and I am _never _wrong. I haven't changed, I am simply better informed than I used to be. I am still the same handsome, blond-haired, stony-eyed god of my world I've always been.

And that, my readers, is why I'm here to reveal the truth to you. After two biased versions of the Second Wizarding War, it's time to see the events through different eyes. Before we walk a kilometer in my shoes though, allow me to clear up a few pieces of business.

First off, I hate Potter. _Fucking _hate him. I hate everything about him, starting with that horrible haircut hiding that self-righteous scar, ending with the heels of the feet he's walked over everyone with. _Everything. _I did everything in my power to create a living hell for him. I never hesitated to beat him at something, and his failure, pain, and humiliation were ever so delicious. Don't misunderstand me, I'm better off that the Dark Lord is dead, but I hate Potter even more for being the one to do it.

Secondly, I despise the Weasleys, starting with that fat cow of a mother and the less-ambitious father right down to that big-eared, oblivious sidekick of Potter's. Nothing angers me more than poverty except having more kids than you can afford to feed and clothe.

I left out the runt, Ginny, whom I despise only _slightly _less than her family. Tabloids have always speculated something further going on between me and the Firecrotch, and her autobiography only fueled that fire even more. Had she not been obsessed with Potter from the beginning and had she not been a Weasley, she might have been a worthy conquest. I wouldn't touch a Weasley. I also wouldn't touch anything contaminated by Potter. (_Cho Chang, _on the other hand, is a different story.) What I _will_ admit is I wouldn't hesitate checking out the Weaslette in Playwizard had she accepted their hefty offer.

Thirdly, Granger. I hate her more than I hate Weasley, and almost as much as I hate Potter. No one has ever annoyed me more for being the best at every damned thing on the planet. More than that, it was always easy to reinforce Pureblood ideals with the likes of Justin Finch-Fletchley and Marcus Belby around, but try saying Mudbloods were unworthy while Granger was waving her wand in my face, threatening me with advanced magic I fucking knew she could do. But that makes me hate her even more, for proving my father's prejudices wrong.

_Now, now, Draco, you're here to tell the truth_. Right, let me rephrase myself. She proved my prejudices to be misinformed. As painful as it is to admit, I was _slightly_ mistaken. There, I said it. I was _not entirely correct _about a lot of things and I've yet to decide to let you in on those pieces of information. It wasn't my fault I saw the world as I did. I blame my parents.

Lastly - and this one is going to take up some space - there's the issue of Albus Dumbledore. I need someone to explain to me why the hell Dumbledore is revered the way he is. While Muggles are throwing a hissy fit that the old man was gay and wizards were worshiping the ground he walked on, everyone is missing the fact that Dumbledore was the single most manipulative person ever in the history of the world. Perhaps if he _was_ a Slytherin and reveled in what he truly was, I'd appreciate him more. You know what, fuck that, I'd still think he was a dick. He hid behind his self-sacrificing attitude and praises of anyone moronic enough to buy into his propaganda.

It's all bullshit. The Dark Lord wasn't nearly as maniacal as Dumbledore was. If he _had _been, he might have beaten the Old Man at his own game and we'd all be sitting around writing stories about how wonderful the Death Eaters' Banquet was last week. I'm not sure what's worse: forcing people to do you bidding with fear and torture, or using them as pawns in an elaborate game of chess for your own goals.

I always knew there was something more than met the eye with the Headmaster, but it wasn't until I read Potter's biographies that I realized just how far the Old Man's hands reached into the treacle treat jar. If I hadn't known any better, I would have sworn I was reading about the perfect Slytherin at work.

I can see it now though, your eyes scanning this page with doubt. My first year is the perfect example. Even Potter and Weasley caught on to this one. They suspected Dumbledore orchestrating all the events themselves. Voldemort happened to be on the move, Potter happened to be coming to the school, and we happened to be playing host to the one object the Dark Lord needed.

Then there's the big oaf Hagrid. Notice how he let just the right amount of information slip to get the ball rolling? Now, either Dumbledore knew he'd forget (which I don't believe because Hagrid was never again so loose-lipped) or Dumbledore instructed him do so. Fast forward to the end. How hard were these obstacles that _three_ eleven-year-old wizards could navigate through them? Notice what each obstacle was? Broom-flying, Chess, logic - the strengths of the so-called Golden Trio. All because Potter "had a right" to face a dark wizard?

Dumbledore knew everything that went on in that school. Every portrait, suit of armor, ghost, and house-elf are sworn to serve the headmaster, which extends to – you guessed it – what happens in the castle. You can't tell me that Dumbledore didn't have an idea who was opening the Chamber of Secrets. Not to mention the Old Man could speak and understand Parseltongue. If Potter was hearing the basilisk, guess who else could hear? And once again, he allowed the littlest Weasley to go through a nightmarish fate where she could have died if Potter failed. And for what? To let Potter prove his worth?

Still not convinced? The sudden hiring of Remus Lupin when Sirius Black escaped from jail? Sending underage wizards back in time to break Wizarding laws, fight off soul-sucking Dementors, and freeing a convicted criminal? Not keeping an eye on The Goblet of Fire? Not putting more protection around Potter when the first two tasks happened without complications?

The Old Man was clearly the strongest and most promising individual for the "good" side. He made it his own personal life goal to vanquish the Dark Lord, and a formidable goal it was, giving his own life in the process. I don't know why he latched onto the idea, maybe he was trying to atone for his mistakes as a young man. Whatever the hell his motives were, it brought out the best in the old wizard, but most significantly, also the worst. You remember he plotted to kill the Dark Lord, but forget he planned a child's death.

This was always for the greater good and never selfish. It is fairly clear Dumbledore's plan for Potter to sacrifice himself to defeat Voldemort was conceived long before Potter arrived at Hogwarts. You may argue that Dumbledore didn't realize that Potter was a Horcrux until Potter handed him Tom Riddle's diary. But while this may indeed have been Dumbledore's first indication that Voldemort had _intentionally_ created Horcruxes, it doesn't adequately explain his knowledge of Potter as a Horcrux. Only moments after hearing the story of the diary, Potter asked the Old Man: "_Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?"_

For someone as abnormally intelligent as Dumbeldore was, you can't sit there and tell me he didn't know.

He fucking _knew_ what had happened that night at Godric's Hollow. The Old Man knew Voldemort had not died in the attempt to kill Potter and he also knew Lily had given her life for her son. How else would he had known the safest refuge for Potter would be with his mother's blood?

So, from that night, when Potter survived when his parents had not, Dumbledore planned for Harry to die – and not only to die, but willingly as his own mother had done. Consequently, Dumbledore had to not only keep Harry safe, but to cultivate in him the willingness to lay down his life when the moment was right.

He played the part as the master chess player well, manipulating everyone around him, using Potter's love against him. Even when his true nature was revealed time after time, Potter _still_ followed. That's because he used his own nature to ensnare him. He deceived Potter in the particulars, but he led him where he would be willing to go. He laid out an enticing road – the only one in sight – and beckoned him to follow him down it. Potter couldn't see the end. He kept that hidden until Potter had gone far enough that he knew he wouldn't turn back. Then he stepped aside and pointed the way to the cliff he expected him to jump off. Potter never stood a chance.

_But, Draco, _I can just hear you shouting at the book, _Dumbledore was right about it all. It all worked out in the end!_

But what if it hadn't?

I understand there may have been no other path to take and he was always working for the greater good, which is arguably a noble purpose to devote one's life to. But if you're saying his lies and deception didn't matter because it turned out fined, then I would call you an insensitive dick. You're telling me that you are completely comfortable with a man who pruned a teenager for death? And if Dumbledore had been wrong, it would have all been fine and fucking dandy for you? Potter would have died for nothing. Even if there had been the slightest doubt… the _slightest _doubt… are you telling me that would be worth it?

God, I hope you answer yes.

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_Author's Note:_

_A portion of this prologue was borrowed directly from a Leaky Cauldron essay entitled "Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore."_


	3. 1: The Beginning of Things to Come

**Chapter One**

**Beginning of Things to Come**

I would normally hate to do anything that would make me _more _like the former Granger. I should really just make you all wait until _she _comes out with her book, which is inevitable, of course, so she can give you a history lesson. But I want it told correctly, without Wizarding biases. Because it's essential to understand the mindset of Voldemort's supporters. Once you understand what was happening _before_, you might be able to understand me _now._

In 1689, after centuries of witchhunts and oppression, the Wizarding governments of the world decided it was in everyone's - Wizarding kind and Muggles alike - best interest if the magical world with all their hocus pocus and fantastic beasts would fade into myths and fairy tales. No one disagreed that _something _needed to be done, but a large majority was infuriated with the controversial decision. Those who disagreed reasoned that WE, the obviously stronger and superior creatures, should not be forced into hiding, much less have anything to fear from the magic-less. Their solution, instead of tucking their tales between the legs and running away, was to take control of the Muggle government and rule over them.

Logically, it made sense, but that kind of control was not as simple as I just made it sound. There were plenty of people who vocalized their opinions, but most didn't care enough to really do anything about it. And those who were willing to do something about it wouldn't have stopped at just _ruling. _Their idea of Muggle control included servitude, torture, and all other jolly perks associated with dictatorship.

Needless to say, the governments in charge fucking knew it.

Since then, the Ministry of Magic has been dealing with tyrants and fiends all trying to upset the establishment. Almost 300 years of wizards trying to conquer countries or expose us to the world. The Wizarding settlers of the New World attempting to wipeout or enslave the natives. Emeric the Evil leading wizards through Transylvania. Jefferson Davis, an American wizard, leading the Confederate Rebels against the United States Union. Loxias setting vampires loose in 1888 England (the Muggles coined this one "Jack the Ripper"). Napoleon Bonaparte, Blackbeard, even some popes of the Catholic faith, the list goes on until you reach Gellert Grindelwald.

Now here was a dark wizard with some fucking balls. Other wizards were rushing in, wands blazing, blatantly trying to expose themselves to the Muggles. Grindelwald, on the other hand, worked with secrets and subtly (learned that one from his man-crush Albus Dumbledore, I'm sure). Gindelwald realized if he attempted a coup, he would be recognized straightaway by his fellow Wizards. If he wanted to be successful, he'd had to rule vicariously through another… a puppet… a, _gasp_, fucking Muggle. That Muggle inevitably was a German leader by the name of Adolf Hitler.

Not only that, he combined the Muggle prejudice of anti-Semitism with the Wizards prejudice of anti-Muggleborn. Which, and this is not coincidentally, is basically the same thing. The funny thing is the Muggles have long forgotten _why _they hated the Jewish Community in the first place and have subjected them to centuries and centuries of oppression. Simply put, the Jews have always produced a vast number of Muggleborns, and before we decided to fade away into fairy-tales, the Muggles recognized this. Hence the Witchhunts and Inquisitions.

Most people turned a blind eye to what Grindelwald and Hitler were doing in the '30s and '40s until it was almost too late to do anything to stop it. By the time the Wizarding governments pulled their heads out of their asses and realized Grindelwald and Hitler weren't just being bigots, but rather trying to conquer the world, they were far too powerful to stop by normal means. This is why Grindelwald and Hitler almost succeeded.

After World War II, Europe would never be the same. The majority of Europe was in, or at least near, an economic depression. Every country searched for peace; many broke out in civil wars. They struggled to rebuild a world devastated world. The Wizarding World was no exception.

The years continued, but the prejudices remained strong. While the Muggles were denying the Holocaust ever happened, Wizards were denying we had anything to do with our problems. Somehow, it became the Muggles fault. All of it. Economy in the shitter? Blame the Muggles! Homicide at an all-time high? Muggles! Got a hangnail on your left hand that hurts like hell? _Fucking _Muggles. It was easy to blame an entity they didn't fully understand.

Voldemort couldn't have entered the scene at a more perfect time. He saw it all. He grew up as Grindelwald and Hitler terrorized Europe. He watched the country suffering from an economic slump and struggling to recreate their society. He was inspired. He went on a silent campaign for decades. He stepped up and offered a solution, one that appealed to generations and generations of witches and wizards before him: it's those _fucking _Muggles again.

There's a movement now called the Progressive Element - a neo-Death Eaters group for lack a better term - which attempts to sugarcoat everything that happened. They are the leading voice in saying Wizarding kind was not involved in World War II. They are the leading voice in saying Voldemort was a man who was suppressed for his beliefs.

They're nowhere near as aggressive as their predecessors. Instead of violence, they debate. Instead of murder, they try to pass laws. Instead of torture rallies, they hold demonstrations. The Wizarding governments, they preach, are the prejudiced ones because they think the Muggles cannot handle the truth of our world. By hiding ourselves, the governments are saying Muggles are inferior. They advocate equality, but it's all bullshit. It's the same argument that's been going on for centuries, just repackaged with a different color bow.

It won't work, and not only because Potter and Pals have reshaped the system as we know it, but also because the goals they have _cannot _be reached without violence. It just doesn't work. I tell you about _them _because how they interpret history is exactly how my generation's parents told us about our history, mostly because it is _my _generation that is leading the "peaceful" movement.

We were all told Lord Voldemort was a martyr who would never see the fruits of his labor or would never live in the world he aspired for so long ago. He had daring ideas of uniting the world of Wizards and Muggles and dreams of emerging from hiding to enter the forefront again. His plan, which was like honey to hundreds of my magical brethren, was the solution to all the problems. The establishment was failing and it was time for a new dawn. A revolution. Lord Voldemort would have been a hero.

Every visionary leader seeking change always have those on the other side fearing that same change. They stand in the way of progress and are willing to commit to violence to achieve this. Voldemort detested spilling blood and wasting life, and avoided doing so whenever possible, but even a hero must fight back against those trying to shatter a better future.

At the helm of the opposition was Albus Dumbledore, using Hogwarts as his recruiting grounds. There were the Bones, the Prewetts, the Longbottoms, all the enemies trying to suppress the Dreamers. And we can't forget the Potters. Oh, the stories told about James and Lily Potter.

Despite being on opposing sides, the Dark Lord liked the Potters - or at least he came as close to liking as old Snake Eyes could get - and he did whatever he could to persuade them to join his cause. He offered wealth, he offered power, he offered protection for loved ones, but the Potters were narrow-minded, brain-washed, and fearful of change. They plotted against Voldemort, and soon, they became the leading threat to Voldemort's better world.

What choice did the Dark Lord really have?

Morbid plans were soon discovered when Dumbledore was overheard conversing with Sybill Trelawney_._ The Order of the Phoenix was going to use a _child _as a weapon. Their desperation for victory had completely clouded their morality. Voldemort, figuring out that it would be the Potters, was forced to act.

No one knew what happened that night when Voldemort went to the Potter's house. I was told James and Lily had been given too many chances and they got what they deserved. But somehow, and no one could answer how, our hero was defeated by a child. A _fucking _baby_._

The question I'm sure you may want answered is why my parents sugarcoated Voldemort after I said they hated him. The first reason, as it was for many, was because Voldemort displayed the most control over magic than anyone in history with the exception of Merlin, and no one knew if he had really died. Hence, my parents and the company they kept were terrified of him even _after _he was defeated. Secondly, the _agreed _with Voldemort's ideal, they just didn't want to risk anything to get it. It was much easier saying Voldemort was a martyr who died for the cause.

Most of his former followers still want that same world. Unfortunately for them, the violent ones who would have been able to shake things up are either dead or locked away in Azkaban. Those that aren't don't have much of a choice. It's either grin and bear it or immortalize "Lord Tom Riddle" in Progressive Element Demonstrations.

Things as they were will never be again. I'm not claiming there will never be a criminal, a tyrant, a war lord, or a vigilante attempting to overthrow (Merlin knows there's been plenty in the last two decades), but there there will never be another Voldemort who will infiltrate society or the government as he died.

Hell, I've been approached by some of those delusional wizards asking me to continue the "good fight."

I just laughed in their fucking faces. You see, I've learned from my misinformation.

* * *

By now, I'm sure you've grown tired of the history lessons and the introductions. You're looking for the meat of the story, what was happening through my cold, gray eyes at the time Potter arrived on the scene. I promise, readers, you'll have more than you can handle.

I turned eleven on June 5. I have always loved birthdays. There's something about the way everyone's attention is centered on yours truly that has never ceased to make me swoon. And the gifts were exceptional that year. Later that evening, when all the family had departed, the doorbell rang.

Father was sitting next to me reading _The Daily Prophet _and I was immersed in a book. I looked up from my pages and watched him place the paper on the end table and rise from his chair. I hesitated to follow because he disliked me always at his heels. Curiosity of the newcomer won me over and I marked my page.

I approached the door just as Father was pulling it open. Beyond him, I saw a pale face with a hooked nose staring intently toward us.

"Severus," greeted Father, escorting the man inside and shutting the door behind him. "It's been far too long."

I always liked Snape, though he wasn't the usual sort of people my Father would associate with. His background was stained by poverty. Its influence could still be noticed; he wore nothing but black robes. Not to mention Snape was a half-blood, though he would always reply, "Not by choice, I assure you." Despite his shortcomings, Father ignored these attributes, trusting a man with seemingly the same ideals as himself. Snape was a friend of the family, the kind that you would see perhaps once a year, twice if you were fortunate.

Standing there, I said nothing, hoping Snape would not recall the details of his last visit.

Father extended his hand. As Snape gripped my Father's hand, he replied, "It has."

Snape let go and he removed his traveling cloak. "I believe the last time I was here, young mister Malfoy," he said as he hung the cloak on the peg closest to the door and lowered his dark eyes slowly to my face, "found it humorous to set my socks on fire."

He _had _remembered after all, but his tone was a friendly one. I grinned, about to retort, but Father cleared his throat loudly. I glanced at him and caught his notorious glare. I immediately stopped smirking.

Looking back at Snape, I replied, "It was an accident. I - "

"Draco," Father said sternly, "have we not discussed this? Neither underage nor accidental magic is a valid excuse. You are a Malfoy, and a Malfoy controls his magic and his temper at all times."

There were many things a Malfoy was expected to do, and I've heard it all my life, including being the best at everything you do. Honestly, that was bullshit. A Malfoy _is _the best at what we do, but that's because we don't start something unless we're certain we're able to achieve such goals.

"Yes, Sir," I answered.

Appearing satisfied, Father addressed Snape again. "You have my word, and my son's word, that it will not happen again."

Snape nodded curtly. "I should hope not," he replied. "My salary at Hogwarts would not cover the expenses Draco would have cost me this year when he comes to school."

"The very reason I asked you here tonight," Father responded. He motioned for us to follow him. "Have a seat," he continued as we entered the sitting room. "We have much to discuss."

Snape took a comfortable chair closer to the fireplace. As I sat down near him, he asked, "Where is Narcissa this evening?"

"Not feeling well," Father replied, taking the seat on the opposite side of me. "She retired early tonight. Would you like anything to drink, Severus?"

"Does that elf still brew tea as he always has?" he asked.

"You haven't changed, have you?" Father asked. "You still refuse to share a glass of firewhiskey even among old friends?"

"My rule is still the same," said Snape.

"Yes, yes, you only drink alone," said Father, waving the comment off with a flick of his hand. "Very well. Dobby!"

With a crack, the house-elf appeared. Cowering slightly, he bowed, and asked, "What can Dobby get Master?"

"A cup of tea and a firewhiskey." Father paused and looked at me. "Anything for you, Draco?"

"Firewhiskey," I answered hopefully.

Father's mouth twitched slightly and had the inklings of a grin. He turned back to the house-elf and replied, "And a butterbeer for my son."

"Yes, Master," Dobby said.

"And be quick," Father said, grabbing the tea cozy tightly and bringing Dobby close to his face. "You were far too slow baking my son's cake earlier." He forced the elf roughly away.

"Dobby will iron his hands, he will," Dobby replied, Apparating away from the sitting room.

"Now," Father began, leaning forward in his seat, "Severus, we have already established that Draco is starting school come this September, but I have not made the final decision as to where he will attend."

Snape nodded. "I assume you've been considering placing Draco under the care of Karkaroff?"

"I would prefer Durmstrang over Hogwarts," Father replied. "They take a far more practical approach to the Dark Arts, and Draco would be surrounded by more acceptable company, not the filth Dumbledore allows through the gates."

"What is stopping you then, Lucius?" Snape questioned.

"Frankly, I'm not sure how much I trust Karkaroff," explained Father. His eyes shifted from Snape to me. "And his mother dislikes the idea of her only child being so far away from home."

"I told her I wasn't afraid," I added quickly.

"_We know," _Father replied. "You've said this before."

With a crack, Dobby re-entered the sitting room with a tray of beverages. He quickly handed me a bottle of butterbeer, Father his firewhiskey, and Snape his tea. Bowing, the elf waited no more. He had long gotten used to the idea of going without compliments. He was gone.

Snape brought the cup close to his lips, studying Father carefully, maybe running the conversation through his head. He took a sip, lowered the beverage to his lap, and swallowed. Little wisps of steam floated carelessly upwards.

"I'm slightly confused," admitted Snape. "What can I offer to your decision?"

Father had already finished his glass of firewhiskey, and was gripping the cup on his knee. "Severus, I trust you," Father answered. "You are by far the most talented teacher at Hogwarts. My wife wishes for Draco to attend Hogwarts, but the only way I will agree is if you can promise me one thing."

"Which is?" Snape asked, taking another sip of tea.

"Keep an eye on my son," Father said. "Make sure he acts befitting to the name of Malfoy, and more importantly, his Pureblood status. I wouldn't want him to fall in with the wrong sort of people."

"Father," I interrupted, "What about Crabbe and Goyle?"

Father smirked. "It's a start," he replied, "but they are far too much like their fathers." He turned to Snape, laughing. "You understand," he added when I looked perplexed.

Snape grinned and nodded. "Crabbe and Goyle may be loyal, but I have never seen such dim-witted wizards in my life. Trust me, Draco, you can do better."

I laughed slightly, feeling a bit offended that my choice of friends was being criticized so. After all, it was not my decision to bring them around when I was younger. I'm not claiming Snape and Father were wrong in their declaration, but Crabbe and Goyle were my only friends. I shoved that notion away quickly, realizing that a Malfoy must only rely on himself.

"That is your only request?" Snape questioned. "Then, yes, Lucius, you have my word. Your son is not a complete nightmare."

Father chuckled. "It's settled then" he said. He reached into his pocket and extracted his wand. With a flick of the wood, a piece of paper appeared in his free hand. I recognized it as my Hogwarts letter that had come earlier that day.

"Your mother will be pleased," Father continued, placing the stationary on the table next to him. "I'll send the owl to Hogwarts in the morning." He rattled the ice in his cup and set it down on the side table and looked at Snape. "Have you applied for Vanderson's old position again?"

Snape scowled. "I have," he replied coldly.

"Don't tell me the Old Man refused your application yet again," Father said.

Snape nodded. "Dumbledore seems to think I'll be tempted into my old ways," he replied.

"He is a fool," Father said. "He forgets that we have reformed." Father smiled broadly. "If I were on the board of governors, the position would quickly be yours."

"The board only votes if Dumbledore cannot find a teacher," Snape explained.

"Nevertheless, I would feel far more comfortable knowing I have a hand in my son's education," Father replied. "The election is next month. That's more than enough time to campaign properly."

I stifled a laugh. That was another thing a Malfoy does not do. A Malfoy does not _campaign_. We bribe the right people. With enough money, the school position would be his.

I spoke up again. "Snape, who is the teacher Dumbledore appointed?"

Snape's upper lip curled as he thought about it. "Quirinus Quirrell," he answered.

"Quirrell, Quirrell," Father repeated, running the name through his memory. "The Muggle-Studies professor?" he replied astounded. "Dumbledore is going senile!"

"Do you like him?" I asked Snape.

"It is unprofessional of a teacher to talk negatively about his colleagues," replied Snape. With a glint in his eye, he replied, "No matter how dismal an educator Quirrell is."

I laughed.

"What qualifications does he possibly have?" Father spat out.

"Quirrell has spent a year traveling to dangerous places," Snape said slowly. "Of course, this makes him an expert in such matters now, spending his time gallivanting around Albania."

"Albania?" Father wondered.

"The first place I think of when discussing the dark arts," Snape sarcastically replied.

"You misunderstand my surprise," Father started. "Has it been Quirrell on Dumbledore's supposed _secret _mission?"

Snape shifted in his seat, keeping an eye on Father. "Secret mission," Snape repeated. "I'm unaware of any secret mission."

"Don't be so modest," replied Father. "Dumbledore has always acted in secrets and subtlety, but I have never seen nor heard the Old Man so loose-lipped about his plans. Moving the Philosopher's Stone to Gringotts, and eventually to Hogwarts is interesting many people. What is he planning?"

"I suggest you ask him," Snape said, looking down at his cup and realizing it was empty. "Or Flamel if you're so interested. He is the one who made the decision to hide the stone at Hogwarts."

"With Dumbledore's suggestion undoubtedly," Father said. "But why, Severus? Why move the stone to the castle…? Unless…" Father's eyes flashed with a mixture of fear and excitement. "He doesn't believe the rumors, does he?"

"What rumors?" I asked, nearly of the edge of my seat.

Father stood for the first time in the conversation. "Surely the Dark Lord is not alive. It's not possible," he said, pacing around the room now.

"The Dark Lord?" I replied eagerly. "You said he was dead, Father. If he's alive, we can help him, right?"

Father turned to me in a flash of anger. "Draco, I want you to leave right now," he commanded.

"But, Father."

"Now!" he said.

With that tone, I knew there was no argument. I held my head down in defeat. Placing the empty bottle of butterbeer on the end table for the elf to clean up later, I trotted out of the sitting room. I stopped short of leaving the vicinity. If Father thought I wasn't going to leave completely, he had another thing coming. I paused to eavesdrop.

"Master Draco," said the elf's high pitched whisper, "Master Lucius would not be pleased to find you listening into - "

"Damn elf!" I hissed, raising my fist. I've never hit the creature, but you only needed to threaten to get your point across. "Shut up, and let me listen. And I forbid you to tell him."

Dobby shook violently, then Apparated away. I returned back to the door just in time to hear Father.

"It's not possible," he repeated. "Is it, Severus?"

"I do not know," Snape replied. "Would it matter if it was?"

"Even if it were possible, the Dark Lord would be in a pitiful position, would he not? Too inferior to lead us again."

"What are you saying, Lucius?" Snape asked. "Would you not come when he called?"

"Without proof, we risk exposing ourselves," Father said quickly. "I sacrificed too much money to stay free of Azkaban. It was a different time back then. We now fight our battles with legislature and laws and political influence."

"If he were back, Lucius, I'm not convinced your reasoning would satisfy him," stated Snape.

"The Dark Lord is gone, Severus," snapped Father, "and we must continue to evolve with the changes." He took a deep breath. Neither he nor Snape said a word for a full minute.

"After ten years, why would Dumbledore be so worried?" Father asked.

After several seconds, Father made a noise of understanding. "Ah yes," he said, his usual calm collected tone returning. "It all makes sense now, doesn't it? _Potter. Harry _Potter. The Old Man is using the child as _bait_."

* * *

Here's the thing about hearing the name Harry Potter growing up. I don't think _anyone _on our side really knew how to talk about him. His name was always said with such mixed emotions, but no one talked about the reason why that was. I had picked up on that kind of speech from the time I was a toddler. The name was whispered among friends. About how much they hated the child that defeated their Dark Lord. About how much they wanted to destroy the little sonovabitch.

But at the same time, his name was praised. There were rumors circulating over the years that Potter was able to survive Voldemort's attack because he was a powerful dark wizard himself. Many of Snake Eye's followers claimed they were hoping Potter would be a rallying point. Most of them were full of shit. And yes, it was praised that way by some delusional wizards, but also because it was needed to be done in public. Because of formalities. Because it's just what you fucking did.

They never felt comfortable praising The Boy Who Lived… but they also never felt comfortable jeering him either.

I never fully understood it until I actually met the kid years later.

It all made sense then.

* * *

**September 1**

It was the stares that stopped me in my tracks.

I paused and my school trunk, which was floating behind me, bumped into the back of my heels. Father placed a hand on my shoulder as we noticed several families in the train station were looking straight at us as we stepped out of the magical entrance to platform 9 ¾. Their eyes were full of accusation. Some people just don't have any fucking manners, do they?

I had been noticing the same thing the more I entered the world outside my family circle. I had been home schooled before by the best tutor money could afford and I had barely exited the comfortable reach of my parents. It was no wonder I hadn't noticed it before. We were Malfoys, and no one could take their eyes off us.

Except it wasn't a look of respect. No, respect was what was given when I noticed the Diagon Alley visitors gawking at that strange child I met at Madam Malkins. The same strange child who was rude to my every question, like he didn't know who I was. I was infuriated just thinking about how he completely blew me off.

And here I was again, at King's Cross, receiving similar stares. Wasn't the Malfoy name supposed to inspire respect? We were a wealthy family, one of the oldest Pureblood names out there. We were fucking royalty.

That's when it hit me. _Jealousy. _They were jealous of us. The stares were ones of the green monster of envy.

Then what about the ones who are looking only because people around them are looking? They look confused. _Oh yes, _I surmised, _Mudbloods. _They were the swine Father had spoken about. I sneered toward their direction and marked each one with disgust in my eyes.

"Control your emotions," Father said quietly, then urged me forward toward the train.

We passed by one of the families who hadn't bothered to look in our direction. They were far too occupied with their goodbyes to even notice us, which annoyed me equally. Instead, the parents kept getting distracted by magical occurrences around them, ones no witch or wizard should be distracted by.

I gritted my teeth, and muttered under my breath, "Muggles."

Their child was a plain girl, whose two front teeth were the predominate factor in her mouth. Her hair looked as if a bird had built a nest on her head. When she spoke, it annoyed the hell out if me. "I promise to write every day," she said as I passed.

"You'll get writer's cramp if you do that," the father said, kissing his daughter on the forehead. "The only thing you need to promise is to brush and floss every day."

"I love you, honey," the mother said, embracing her child with tears rolling down her cheeks.

I looked at my father. I was about to point and make a remark, but Father shook his head sternly. When we were out of hearing distance, he stopped me. He and Mother bent down to my level.

"There are several things we must tell you, Draco," Father said quietly. "There are certain subjects we discuss at home and among friends that will not be tolerated at Hogwarts. It would be advisable to remain silent. There are not many teachers who would find our views favorable."

"But Father," I replied, observing the Muggles we had just passed, "we shouldn't have to hide what we believe."

"There is a time and a place for everything, Draco," Father said. "First and foremost, you must learn who you can trust and speak freely with."

I looked from him to Mother. She nodded in agreement. "Secondly," Mother went on, "there is a child who should be starting school this year."

"Who?" I asked, stretching my neck to check the crowd. My eyes were immediately drawn to a group of redheads conversing among themselves.

"Harry Potter," Mother whispered.

My eyes darted back to her face. "_The _Harry Potter?" I asked, clenching my fists. "The one who killed-"

"_Not _here," Father cut me off. "You are entering a world where it is unacceptable to be anything but sympathetic toward the Boy-Who-Lived. Play your part well, son, I have faith in you."

"Play my part?" I repeated, frowning. "What do you mean? Should I be his… his _friend?" _I scoffed at the very idea.

Father considered it for a moment. "It would not hurt your reputation if you did so," Father answered, much to my disbelief. "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. I'm curious about the boy anyhow. I'm sure Dumbledore has pampered him, but it couldn't hurt to find out if he knows how he managed to defeat the Dark Lord."

I nodded, not sure how to take this request. I glanced back over the redheaded family. The mother was scolding twins. Several feet shorter than the rest, a small girl was laughing and looking eagerly at the older boys.

"Father," I said as I looked on, "who is that family?"

He turned away to look. When he returned back to me, he was smirking. "Weasleys," he said with amusement. "I'm surprised they had enough money to send yet another child to Hogwarts. They're all the same, Draco, red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Mother laughed. "It would be best if you kept your distance from their kind as well," she advised. "They are a disgrace to their pure blood."

Annoyance sprung up inside me as I looked toward the family again. My options of who I could associate myself were growing thinner and thinner. Soon only Crabbe and Goyle were going to be my only choices, and Father had made it clear I was to locate better suited friends.

Father stood up. Mother embraced me and kissed my cheek. I grimaced.

"Narcissa, don't embarrass the boy," Father said.

She stood up next to him. "I won't see him until Christmas," she replied. "He can stand a bit of embarrassment."

"Goodbye, Draco," Father said, patting me on the shoulder. "Remember what we've talked about."

I nodded. "I won't disappoint you," I assured him, then looked at Mother. "Goodbye, Mother."

She cleared her throat. Her eyes were full of mist. It wasn't like her to cry. As she wiped her eyes, she said, "Goodbye, Draco."

I turned and walked toward the nearest entrance with my trunk following. As I passed by the Weasley clan, I heard the twins exclaim the name "Harry Potter." I grimaced again and looked toward them. It would be like their kind to piss their pants over a celebrity.

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please…" the runt said as I climbed into the train.

I gritted my teeth together. Didn't they realize they were in the presence of a Malfoy? They should be offering to lick my fucking feet clean, not fawning over a lucky bastard. I glanced once more back at the redheads, who were hugging each other. The boys left the mother and runt and followed behind me on the train. It looked like the Potter-obsessed bitch was staying behind. I turned right; they turned left.

Crabbe and Goyle were in the first compartment I came across. I opened the door and offered a smirk.

"Crabbe, Goyle," I greeted, "I'm glad you found a compartment without me. You've already exceeded everyone's expectations."

Goyle's fat face broke into a genuine grin. "Thanks, Malfoy," he said sincerely as if I had just complimented them both.

I looked down at my trunk. "Crabbe, make yourself useful," I said, pointing to it.

He immediately left his seat and grabbed my heavy luggage. Hoisting it onto his thick shoulders, he lifted the trunk onto the rack above us.

I thought about what Snape and Father had said on my birthday. Vincent Crabbe Jr. and Gregory Goyle Jr. truly were fucking idiots, and seeing them for the first time since my Father and I discussed this made me realize just that. I don't remember when I had first started calling them by their surnames, but the funny thing is that even their parents call them Crabbe and Goyle. The juniors had in their head that I should be called by my last name too, but I have long given up telling them that I hated it. They tend to forget a lot of things.

No, Crabbe and Goyle were never going to lead anyone. They were _built _for taking orders, not giving them. Maybe _that's _why I enjoyed having them around. They were my own personal lackeys.

I sprawled myself onto the opposite bench as Goyle. When Crabbe was finished with my luggage, he took his seat next to Goyle. I leaned against the wall, placing my body the length of the seat. I intertwined my hands behind my head, thinking of all the things I might be able to convince the Muscles to do for me.

The train began to move as I peered out the window. Father and Mother had already left the station, but that redheaded bitch and her daughter were still there, waving. The runt began moving after the train, half crying, half laughing. I watched her running, hoping she'd fall, but she eventually couldn't keep up.

_Don't the Weasels have any self-respect? _I thought bitterly.

I glanced at the hulking forms of my friends. They were sitting there quietly, staring out the window. What the fuck do they talk about when I'm not around to guide the conversation?

Before I could engage, the door of the compartment opened. All eyes jumped to the entrance. It was that damn, bushy-haired girl with her trunk dragging behind her. With her this close, I was able to get a better look at her. The closer proximity didn't do her any favors. I wanted to curse her for _looking _annoying.

"Would it be alright if I sat in here with you?" she asked, looking at where my legs were planted on the seats.

I smirked. "There's no room," I replied.

"Malfoy," Goyle said, pointing toward my lowest regions, "there's room right there. Under your legs."

How the _hell _was I going to get through this school year with him… no, _both of them_, as smart as fucking flobberworms? Before I could react again, my feet were swept off the seat by the annoying newcomer.

"Don't be silly," the girl said, pulling her trunk into the compartment. "There's plenty of room," she added as she sat down.

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

"This is the first place I found with room," she said matter-of-factly. "I really appreciate you allowing me to sit with you. I was afraid I wouldn't make many friends at this school, but everyone seems really nice. Although my mother did say that you shouldn't really base opinions off first impressions, and to get to know someone before saying they're really nice. I heard Harry Potter was on the train, and I'd like to meet him. He's in a lot of the books-"

"You talk real fast," Goyle interrupted, rubbing his temples and scrunching his face.

The girl didn't skip a beat.

"Do I?" she questioned. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm just really nervous. You know Hogwarts is supposed to be the best school of witchcraft there is and I've always done well in school, so I don't want to mess up. That's why I've already read all the textbooks…"

I pulled my wand - hawthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches - from my pocket and pointed it at her. She stopped speaking immediately and appeared startled.

"Look, Curly," I said, smirking. "I don't _care _about anything you have to say. You're an annoying little bitch."

Her eyes were beginning to glisten. "What…?" she started.

"Tell me," I said, feeling the surge of brutality, "what's your name?"

"My name?" she asked.

"What do people call you?" I questioned.

"Herm-m-m-mione," she said.

Her upper lip was quivering. I could tell by the look in her eye that this hadn't been the first time in her life that she had been teased. Judging from her appearance as a bloody, beaver-toothed goody-goody, she had had her fair share of taunts. As the corners of her eyes collected the tears like a dam collecting water, I could feel that she had desperately been hoping Hogwarts was going to be a fresh start from all the mean kids.

Oh, the joy I had ripping that dream from those shit-colored eyes.

"What kind of name is Hermione?" I repeated, laughing. "How about your surname?"

"Granger," she said, now backing up as far away from my wand as possible. "I don't understand why that matters. You wouldn't know my relatives. No one else in my family is magical."

Crabbe and Goyle grunted.

"Malfoy, she's a Mudblo-"

"Shut up, Crabbe," I hissed out of the corner of my mouth. Crabbe did so. I redirected my comments back to the quivering mass of hair. "It's your lucky day, Granger. Since _I _don't want to be expelled on my first day, I'm going to allow you leave with your hair still on your head. But if you ever try something like this again, I _will _curse you."

"Try what?" she asked.

"Get out!" I shouted.

She stood and backed up against the door. She fumbled clumsily for the door handle. The tears were now falling freely from her face, and I loved every second of it. She grabbed the handle of her trunk and pulled it toward it backwards.

I stood up quickly and kicked the trunk toward her. She tripped and fell out the door, landing with a satisfying thump on the floor.

"By the way," I said, placing my wand back into my pocket. I needed to get this right, to add the right amount of the famous family sneer. "The name's Malfoy. Don't fucking forget it." I slammed the door shut as I heard her burst into loud sobs.

Crabbe and Goyle looked dumb-founded when I turned around. I smacked both of their heads before leaning back into my seat again.

"Do me a favor," I said to them. "How about you let me do _all _the talking from now on?"

"Okay, Malfoy," Goyle replied.

"Why didn't you hex her?" Crabbe asked. "You heard what she was. A Mudblood."

"I know it's hard for you, but try to think," I said. "What would have happened if I cursed her?"

They puzzled over the question for a few seconds. Finally, Goyle answered, "I don't know," he said. "What curse were you gonna use?"

"No," I said. "I would have been expelled. My father said we have to watch ourselves because some people won't like what we believe."

"My dad said we shouldn't put up with them," Crabbe replied. "That we should ex-term-nate them."

"Yeah, well, my father's a lot smarter than your father," I replied. "My father never spent time in Azkaban. How many years did dear Vincent Crabbe the First serve?"

Crabbe started counting on his fingers, but I rolled my eyes. "You couldn't count that high anyhow," I muttered.

I intertwined my hands behind my head once again. "Trust me when I say we have to lay low. At least until we know who we can trust."

"Do you think it's true what she said?" Goyle asked. "About Harry Potter being on the train?"

I clenched my teeth, thinking how the Weasley family had made such a big deal out of it, and how that redheaded runt had desperately wanted to see him. "I don't care where the great Harry _Potty _is," I answered.

"My dad said he's a powerful dark wizard," Crabbe said. "_That's _how he defeated the Dark Lord. Do you think he'd be our leader?"

"My dad said we should kill him" Goyle replied. "That would make the Dark Lord happy. My dad says he's coming back."

"You're both wankers," I said. "Potty isn't a dark wizard, and the Dark Lord isn't coming back… at least that's what _my _father said."

The train door was pushed open again and I was half-expecting to see that bushy-haired freak clamoring through and rambling on about how everyone deserves a second chance. It _wasn't _her, but rather two boys my own age. One was a tall, black kid and the other was a gangly, shorter kid.

"We're full, right, Malfoy?" Goyle said smugly, looking at me for approval.

"Do you _ever _listen?" I questioned, ignoring the newcomers for now. "You'll never amount to anything, Goyle."

"Now you sound like my father," said the gangly kid. He extended his hand toward me. "The name's Nott, a good, strong Pureblood name if there ever was any. That's what you like, Malfoy, isn't it?"

"Nott," I repeated, scanning him curiously.

"Make your mind up soon, chap," he went on. "Me hand's not going to shake itself."

He was a witty kid, I'll give him that much. I extended my hand, grabbed his, and proceeded to shake it.

"The name's Draco," I said, allowing him to have a seat.

"I know," he replied. "The name's Theodore, and if you call me, Teddy, it'll be the last thing you call anyone. Theo, however, is fine."

"Crabbe, his stuff," I said, pointing to the trunk.

Crabbe reacted immediately. Upon grabbing the trunk, the other boy, who had been waiting far more patiently than I would have, coughed loudly.

Theo chuckled. "If I had any, I'd be asking where me manners were," he said, pointing to the boy he entered with. "This here's me best mate, Blaise Zabini… don't worry about his blood, it's fine."

I motioned for Blaise to sit. This time, Crabbe didn't need instructions, he simply hoisted the trunk up on his shoulders and deposited it overhead next the Theo's stuff. I grinned: it was like training a dog. I considered patting his head and offering a treat.

"We hated to crash your party, Draco, but the only other room was one about five spaces down," said Blaise, pointing with his thumb rather than his finger. "Some girl was crying in it."

"Curly hair? Two beaver teeth?" I questioned eagerly.

"Aye," said Theo, nodding. "I take you met her already?"

"We did," I replied.

"Annoying girl, isn't she?" Blaise observed. "We might have sat with her if she didn't look so damn pitiful. Bet she'll be in Hufflepuff."

"Most Muggleborn are," I stated, observing their reactions.

Both Blaise and Theo made a face of disgust. I was pleased to find two more fellow students sharing my ideals.

"I heard we had several of their kind starting this year," said Theo, shuddering. "Good thing we didn't sit with her then."

Blaise agreed. "It's just not natural."

"It's not like I have a big problem with them," added Theo. "I'd just be more comfortable if they'd go to a different school. That's what me dad's been trying to do ever since we got back from the continent."

"My mom would love that," explained Blaise. "She's been saying they don't belong in our school system for years."

"It's not like most of them will really be able to keep up with real wizards anyhow," said Theo.

I smirked. I liked them. Finally, some intelligent life forms that were almost on par with myself.

"Want to bet Granger will fail out in the first week?" I suggested.

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

Blaise turned his attention back to the Muscles. "What do you two think?" he asked.

"They don't," I muttered, and Theo chuckled.

"We should kill them," Crabbe said without hesitation. Goyle agreed fully.

"That's right, I forgot," Blaise said. "Your parents…" he motioned around to all three of us. "…were all big supporters of the Dark Lord."

"Me dad was, too," Theo said, turning to the Muscle and myself. "When the Dark Lord fell though, me dad was on the mainland campaigning, and me mum and me were with him. Me parents didn't think it'd be smart to come home, so we stayed away until things settled down."

"My mum always liked the guy," Blaise replied. "Well, I can't say the bloke didn't have the right idea."

"My parents are waiting for him to return," Goyle said.

"As soon as he does, we're joining his side," Crabbe added.

Blaise and Theo looked taken aback.

"You don't dance around the subject, do you?" Theo questioned. "Got to respect that, I guess, but don't you think you should be a little more discreet? It's not too smart."

"Tell me about it," I said, flashing angry eyes at Crabbe and Goyle. "I've been trying to train them, but they're not easy to teach."

"Once my mum neutered our dog, he was easier to teach," said Blaise, shrugging. "You could try that."

"What does that mean, Malfoy?" Goyle questioned.

I ignored him.

The five of us conversed as the train sped across the country side. It was nice to have kids my age that I could actually relate to. No matter how loyal Crabbe and Goyle were, I couldn't talk to them without confusing them. Blaise and Theo were actually able to have a conversation.

I guess you could say I liked Theo. If anyone came close to being my equal, I would say it was him. For this reason, I kept my distance. We worked the same way, and he kept his distance as well. I didn't need an equal, but I did seek Theo out when I needed depth added to my life.

Blaise, on the other hand, could have dropped dead any moment, and I wouldn't have lost any sleep over it. He was a decent kid when I met him here, but I eventually hated him. Mostly because Pansy Parkinson paid a little too much attention to him rather than me. And had a crush on him all the while she was catching my eye. You might have guessed that I don't share well. He knew it, too, and would flaunt it in my face. He was an arrogant fucker who thought the world owed him a favor. Actually, come to think about it, he reminded me of myself, and while there's plenty of room in this world for another like me, as I've already mentioned: I don't share.

After lunch, we had one more visitor for the day. It was a short, pudgy, pathetic-looking wizard who cautiously opened the train door and stood away from us at a safe distance. We didn't say a word as he opened the door, but rather just stared. He didn't like the awkwardness.

"H-h-hello," the boy started. "Have you seen a toad? I lost it."

"Who brings a toad to school?" I questioned aggressively. "If I had found it, I would have thrown it out the window by now."

The Muscle beside me started laughing. I was proud of them for the first time because they actually didn't speak this time. I waited several seconds before fully accepting their silence.

Before anyone else could speak, Granger appeared in the doorway, just as cautious as this other kid. She had stopped weeping. In fact, one would have never been able to tell she had even cried on the train today at all.

"Come on, Neville, they're not going to help," she said, placing her hand on the door. "And it is true, Harry Potter is on the train," she added as the door slid shut. The chubby kid brightened up, but Granger said, "No, he hasn't seen your toad either."

Theo leaned back. "Harry Potter? On our train?" he said. "Never saw that one coming."

Blaise shook his head. "I'd like to meet the bloke," he said. "See what all the hype is about. Do you really think he defeated your Dark Lord?"

I shrugged, frowning at all the attention Harry Potter was once again receiving.

Theo also shrugged. "No one knows, do they?" he replied. "Me dad thinks there was some kind of spell already placed on him. Isn't that what the Order was planning, using the boy as a weapon?"

Theo was looking at me for the answers. I didn't want to talk about the Boy-Who-Lived. He was gathering enough attention and we hadn't even seen him yet.

"You know what?" I said, standing up in the middle of the compartment. "I'm already sick of hearing his name. And I haven't even met him yet. Why don't we find him and roll out the red carpet and have a parade?"

Blaise and Theo looked at each other with doubt, and I could see neither of them was really serious about meeting him. Hell, I wasn't even sure why I was rushing off to meet him. It might have been Father's curious inquiry about the child, but that couldn't have explained it all.

"C'mon, Crabbe, c'mon, Goyle."

Imagine my surprise when I discovered who the fuck Harry Potter was. It was the same moron I had met at Diagon Alley; the same kid who had ignored my every question, who treated me as if I were nothing more than a common wizard he could pass by without a second glance.

_This _was Harry Potter? Harry Potter, the child who was supposed to be a powerful wizard - dark or gallant, take your pick. Harry Potter, the child who was rumored to have abilities beyond mere mortal wizards. Harry Potter, the child who had sunshine radiant from his ass. Harry Potter, the hero, the savior, the dream come true, sitting in a train compartment with sticky adhesive tape holding his spectacles together.

It had to be a fucking joke.

To annoy me even more, the kid refused my offer of friendship. Flat out _refused _it and embarrassed me in front of my boys, not that they'd really understand what was going on anyhow. No one, and I mean _no one, _had ever refused me. I had servants trained to do my bidding, house-elves who were forced to jump at the snap of a finger, and parents who didn't spoil me, but did everything in their power to make me comfortable. Nothing was out of reach for a Malfoy if he just had the desire and pockets that were deep enough. I had never been denied so… so… fucking rude before.

And for what? _For what!? _A filthy, Muggle-loving Weasley?

And there it was. The catalyst of my intrepid hatred toward Harry Potter. The moment when I decided to make his life a living hell. The moment that defined where I would stand the next seven years. In his way where I fucking belonged.

Walking back to my compartment, I was seething, and I had only one thought in my mind.

"Potter is going to pay."

It was only the beginning of things to come.

* * *

_Bonus points if you catch my reference to another popular fanfiction._


	4. 2: Shadows

_My dearest readers, I know it has been a long time, but I'm sure you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. As I have previously said, I hate making you wait. A nine-month long wait is clearly inexcusable, but I would rather make you wait for a superb update than something I didn't fully put my heart into and gave just for the sake of updating._

_Soon after the last update in October, I was promoted to full time at the newspaper I work at and I subsequently quit my part-time job at Arby's. That has been a downfall for my creativity. I have learned something new about myself. I did a majority of writing when I slaved away at the local fast food joint, and that was because I was bored out of my mind. Now, I have a full time job and I'm not as bored. I get paid to write now, but I rarely do writing for fun any more._

_Furthermore, as I said in October, I had a lost a friend in a car accident. Incidentally, sixteen days after I updated the story, I lost a second friend, this time to a fire. Needless to say, the previous nine months have not been a picnic for me and I'm only recently recovering from the losses. With the loss of two friends so close to each other, I lost much of my motivation, which included writing._

_This update does not necessarily mean I have 100 percent picked up the story again. This is however the first of about four updates that span the remainder of Book One. My goal is to update weekly over the next handful of weeks, but that however is not a guarantee._

_I'm still working with GinnyGuerra as my beta. I'm also working with SlytherinPrincess as my Slytherin Advisor, but if anyone would be interested in becoming a second beta, please let me know. I would like to make this story as close to perfection as possible. If you notice typos, find grammar/spelling or canon mistakes, use an Americanism that you think I should change, or feel a character is acting odd, let me know. ALL opinions are welcome. If you think I should change something, provide me with enough evidence from the books and/or a logical explanation and I will take your idea very seriously._

_"I, Draco" is a sequel to "In the Words of Ginevra Molly Potter" and, in a way, "Destiny Redefined," and I will be keeping many of the same pairings and plotlines that I have developed previously. In order to full understand how some of the minor events came to be, you would have to read my previous novels, although I'm fully confident you'll be able to figure out what's going on even if you haven't read them._

_I subscribe to the Sensible Universe. This means that I adhere 100 percent to book-canon information, but does not mean I will put as much dedication into post-Deathly Hallows revelations. If I feel a piece of information revealed by JK Rowling works better in a different way, I will not feel guilty changing this. This also means that the storyline and plotlines I developed in the other novels will carry on to this novel despite post-Deathly Hallows revelations that say otherwise._

_I also wanted to tell you this story follows the same timeline as my previous stories and takes place approximately 20 years following the defeat of Voldemort. To put it in context of my previous stories, Draco started writing this several days following the release of "In the Words of Ginevra Molly Potter" in the Wizarding world and is likely to be published before the 21st Anniversary of Voldemort's Defeat._

_With that all said, I welcome you to the second chapter of "I, Draco."_

**Chapter Two**

**Shadows**

According to historical records, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was founded over a millennia ago (the exact date is unknown), in a time where witches and wizards were persecuted for their ability to do magic. Oddly enough, a magical person would sometimes be born into a non-magical family. Reasons for this have always been a matter of speculation ranging from theft of natural magical abilities to the missus unable to resist the charm of a wizard's, _ahem_, little wizard to Wizarding researching shrugging their shoulders and admitting they have no clue. Nevertheless, these Muggleborn witches and wizards were rarely accepted in either social circle. They were shunned from their families and viewed as untrustworthy by their magical brethren.

As reasoning goes, it made sense for Wizarding kind to be nervous around Muggleborns because the people they came from were raising their pitchforks and rubbing their sticks together to start bonfires where the guest of honor would be feeling just a _tad_ hot under the collar. How could these Muggleborns, who came from a race of prejudice people, be trusted? Furthermore, how could the minority of Muggleborns be protected in a school with the majority being Pure and Half Bloods? Simply put, it was easier and safer for everyone to exclude them, which is what happened for the first several years of the school. However, the ruling class of Wizards somehow thought it was a grand idea to allow these Muggleborns into the school. This could have been for a number of reasons, but the most popular theory among anti-Muggle wizards was that they wanted to keep a closer eye on their enemy.

We as wizards and witches, and those who have read Rowling's account, have often been told that first Headmaster Godric Gryffindor was a hero for Muggles and Muggleborns alike. He did, after all, allow Muggleborns to be taught in his school, resulting in fellow founder Salazar Slytherin's eventual departure from the educational facility. _Yeah, _Gryffindor _allowed_ Muggleborns to be taught like Voldemort _allowed_ his followers freedom. That historical glob of history is, of course, accurate, but it's a glossed-over, sugar-coated, dream version rather than the detailed, down-and-dirty truth.

When the ruling class of Wizards decided to allow Muggleborns into the school, three of the four Founders, Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff, agreed without putting up any kind of fight, but fourth founder, the notoriously difficult Slytherin, refused to agree to such blasphemy, calling the others and the governing bodies "sell-outs." In a now famously imitated moment of history, Gryffindor and Slytherin had an intense stand off, though neither one actually cast a spell.

Slytherin ultimately left the school, but not before Gryffindor – most likely pushed by Ravenclaw - offered a compromise, which eventually became school policy for centuries. There would be stricter criteria for the Muggleborns compared to the Pure and Half Bloods, and there would be a certain fee Muggleborns would have to pay each year to enter the school, a price witches and wizards born from magical families weren't required to pay. Both were obviously bigoted standards mostly because the majority of Muggleborns had very little anyhow. Being blacklisted from their own kind usually does that to a person.

Whether the other Founders actually thought the new standards would lure Slytherin back is unclear. And though Muggleborns were allowed to attend, they were rarely Sorted into any house other than Hufflepuff. Muggleborns were also historically not given the same quality education as Purebloods, even more so after the Founders died. It wasn't until after World War II, in 1949 when new laws pissed the hell out of my grandparents, that standards and policies were changed and Muggleborns found refuge in Houses outside Hufflepuff.

It begs the question whether Slytherin – and by extension, his house – was evil, as he is most often depicted in history lessons and school dramas. Sure, he had a grumpy reputation, may have picked a couple fights, and there was that teeny-tiny hiccup with the Chamber of Secrets, but _evil_?

Come now, you all throw the word around more than Lavender Brown threw herself at anything with a cock. (And yes, I _would_ know.) Lord Voldemort was evil. Salazar Slytherin was evil. Lucius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Rita Skeeter. Dolores Umbridge. Every member of the Weird Sisters. "Evil" is such a hard, subjective and horrifically clichéd term.

It's just far too difficult to define accurately because any definition you would declare bothers me. I've heard evil described as a horrible beast with a thirst for blood, which would mean your precious Lupin had evil lurking within him. I've heard it described as an arrogant man using any means necessary to accomplish a goal, which would, as I've said before, have made perfect old Dumbledore a candidate for evil. I've even heard evil described as attempting to kill a baby, which Lord Voldemort did (and succeeded a number of times, I'm told). _That _one had me stumped for awhile – at least until Rowling and Potter provided me with the answer in their books. If killing or attempting to kill a child is a one way ticket to Hell, then the Longbottom (I can hear Frank and Alice turning in their graves now) family deserves window seats on that train. Have no idea what I'm referring to? Neville Longbottom, remember? Being thrown from a window and off a pier because they thought he was a Squib.

(Prejudice is limited to Slytherins, _my ass!)_

You may be wondering why I'm defending Voldemort. Trust me, I'm not. What I'm doing is knocking some of you off your high and mighty pedestal. The lines between good and evil are blurred. All of us… _every single one of us_… has dealt with the shadowy side of our personalities at one time or another. Salazar was just a teensy bit more willing to accept his gray side than his fellow Founders. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's the shadows I adore anyhow. I slip them on like a warm Quidditch robe right before a game. And isn't it the twilight – the moment between light and dark – where poets find the most inspiration? _"HAIL Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!"_ and all that jazz. (You would have never thought me as a lover of the arts, would you?)

Okay, _okay_, I admit, I can't speak for Salazar himself, but to answer the million-galleon question of the House of his namesake: Is Slytherin evil?

Perhaps my son, Scorpius Malfoy, said it best in an essay he recently penned for his History of Magic class. He wrote:

............................."The qualities of the Slytherin House - cunning, ambition and resourcefulness - are easily turned towards ill purposes, but are not inherently negative. These qualities attract an array of students who are susceptible to the use of dark magic and other crime. Possessing ambition as a core quality results in a disproportionate amount of competitive, sometimes self-important, students.

Furthermore, there are qualities in each of the Hogwarts House that can lead a student down a negative path as well. The daring of the Gryffindor House can easily lead to recklessness and arrogance. The intelligence of the Ravenclaw House can easily lead to egoism and close-mindness; and the loyalty of the Hufflepuff House can create blind and irresponsible devotion.

Statistically speaking, Slytherin has produced far more Dark Wizards than Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw combined. The Daily Prophet reported last year that three out of four prisoners currently in Azkaban were once Slytherin students. Of those Slytherin prisoners, nearly half are facing life sentences because of homicide charges.

Reputation and statistics have never been friends with the Slytherin House, but simply being sorted there does not mean a student is destined for Azkaban or a life of crime."............................

In other words, Slytherin is not, was not, and never has been evil.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

As we all stepped off the train, it was the big oaf Hagrid that called to us. I strained my neck over the crowd of students and noticed the hulking figure motioning for us all to follow him. I growled inwardly at having to rely on such an idiot of a person on my first day of school.

"Dear Merlin," breathed Theo beside me. "Who let him out of his cage?"

"I hope he doesn't teach here," said Blaise.

I grinned. "My Father told me about him," I said, walking beside them with Crabbe and Goyle on our heels. "He's some kind of a servant who does Muggle jobs around the castle."

Blaise whistled impressively as we followed the crowd of First Years. "He looks... _fun_..." he muttered to us.

"Fun," repeated Theo, giving a wink. "_Not_ the F-word I would have used."

As we laughed, we continued walking. By this time, the upperclassman had already split off from the rest of us and were boarding the horseless carriages. I caught a glimpse of the redheaded twins stepping up on one with a dark-skinned girl and a tall boy. _Why the hell_, I wondered, _do we have to travel by foot when everyone else gets to ride?_

A moment later, my answer was clear. I had only seen Hogwarts in photographs, but no picture can accurately represent the truly awe-inspiring view we had. Blocking our eyes when we stepped off the train are trees and Hogsmeade shops. As we cleared them, approaching the lake, the castle came into view. Of course, there was a loud appreciation from everyone around me, but I refused to show how impressed I was.

"I've seen better," I said a little loudly as the path itself started to become slightly narrower and steeper. "Durmstrang has far more towers than this shack."

Crabbe and Goyle snickered. Blaise and Theo chuckled. Theo, already beginning to pick up when I was being far too cool for my own good, gave me a playful shove and told me to shut my mouth.

"Hogwarts is the oldest school in Europe," came the distinct voice of Granger from behind us.

I turned around. She wasn't entirely correct. There's an Italian School in Turin, Augusta Taurinorum Schola Magica, that claims to have origins during the Roman Empire. The school was supposedly established during the founding of the city itself. As legend goes, a dragon was terrorizing the land. A peasant man forced one of his bulls to drink a goatskin full of wine until it was drunk, then incited it to fight the dragon. Though the battle was violent and bloody, the bull over came the dragon, but died shortly after. The school's motto became: "_Dracone furens taurus superior semper est," __which roughly translates as "The Furious Bull Always Comes Before the Dragon." Strangely, there are no written records on this legend until ____after __the first written records of Hogwarts. Most scholars believe it is the school's attempt to undermine Hogwarts of any distinction (they even further speculate the dragon represents Hogwarts), following a long, rich rivalry between the schools._

_But since there are no official records confirming this, Hogwarts wins the honor of oldest school._

I considered ridiculing Granger for her presumptuous view of history, but Toad-Lover Neville, who Granger had been talking to, stumbled over a rock in the path because he had been staring in awe at the mountainous towers jutting high into the sky.

Before I myself had a chance to demonize his psyche even more, a female voice was already on the prowl. "Watch where you're going, Longbottom," she cried, pushing the chubby bloke out of her path. "You're going to be in Hufflepuff, that's for sure."

I had every intention of agreeing with this newcomer, but I noticed how much less I despised her at first glance than I usually felt with neophytes. Her face was small and smooth, framed by her dark brown hair, which reached only to her chin. Her dark eyes caught mine as I peered at her. She smiled, her teeth flashing in perfectly sculpted rows.

"Hi," she said, walking past me, her shoulder barely brushing mine as she walked past.

A new sensation gripped my shoulder. The smallest bolts of lightning, tingling up and down my arm. I shuddered, then frowned, likening the perception to hate, just not nearly as strong. She would, years later, tell me I was feeling love at first sight.

"Who's to say it wasn't hate?" I questioned her.

"Love. Hate," she said, teasingly biting my lip. "The obsessive faces of the same emotion."

I turned my eleven-year-old body and righted myself correctly on the path, watching her walk away from me without the slightest glance back. The girl, whose name was a mystery I, for some reason, wanted to solve, was ignoring me. I've been told that's an underhanded tactic witches use to get attention they really want, and _damn it_, it works. _Especially_ for me. I hate not being recognized, known, adored, fawned after – you get the idea.

At that moment however, she was slightly separated from the other First Years, and we rounded the final curve before the boats. Hogwarts, in all its glory, loomed before us, reflecting majestically off the lake. The surface of the water resembled a mirror and it looked as if two castles – one above and one below – were ready for us. And she, this mystery girl, was walking in my line of sight to this awed spectacle.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called while pointing to a large number of small, wooden watercrafts beside the shoreline.

His gruff words shook me from my pre-adolescent gaze. I glanced around, looking for signs of Theo or Blaise or the Muscle, but they were nowhere to be found. Swearing to myself, I scanned the mob of students, not daring to look as if I needed anyone other than myself. There was Potter, getting ready to take his place beside Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom. I gritted my teeth and stood still, trying my best to appear as if I had planned it.

At last, I noticed the large frames of Crabbe and Goyle already sitting in a boat. Unfortunately, they were already seated with Theo and Blaise. I considered breaking the four-person-per-boat rule, but there was barely enough room to fit a flobberworm, let alone me. Theo noticed me looking toward them and shrugged.

"Over here."

The voice. There it was again. I recognized it immediately. My eyes left Theo and settled on a boat to their left in the shallows. The girl again. She pointed at me, then placed her hand on the empty seat next to her, patting it delicately. This worked out better than I expected.

Sitting next to her, she said, "You looked lost."

"No," I replied. "Just nowhere else to sit."

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then – FORWARD!"

I sat a bit awkwardly next to this girl as the boats lurched ahead. My interaction with the opposite sex was admittedly in short supply, limited to Mother and the occasionally adult family friend. That, of course, would change quickly. I had that certain indefinable characteristic that attracted the witches. A certain _j__e ne sais quoi._ Always able to have a good time. Always able to _show_ you a good time. It might be the bad boy image. Witches just want to mold the bad boys into a cookie cutter image of a model student. Change _me?_ Laughable. I don't _change_. I thought we've been over this.

"I'm Pansy," she said, with a mixture of saccharine sweet and pre-pubescent arrogance.

"Draco."

"What house do you think you'll be in?" she asked.

"Slytherin," I replied quickly and without hesitation. It was only after I said it that I wondered for a brief moment if that's what she wanted to hear. I recovered though, vanishing that fleeting thought as I realized I didn't – or at least shouldn't – care what she wanted to hear.

"You sound so sure," she said.

"Of course I am," I replied. _There you are, Draco. Missed you for a spell. Glad to have you back. _"Where else would I be? Have you ever heard of a Malfoy yet who hasn't been in Slytherin?"

The boat magically pushed further from the shore. The Oaf might have said something as the leader of the mini-ships, but I wasn't paying any more attention to him. We glided over the water, the moon reflecting brightly off the meniscus of the water. She grinned coyly and placed the tops of her fingers in the lake, causing the tiniest of ripples to appear beside the boat.

"A Malfoy," she repeated, nodding. "My mum said to watch out for you."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Oh," she said, shrugging. "Nothing." She lifted her hand from the water and droplets of the liquid slowly cascaded from her fingertips. Flicking her damp fingers, she said undoubtedly as well, "I'll be in Slytherin too."

"Me, too," said the third person in the boat, turning her body to talk to us. "My dad said it's the best house of the four." She had a large, rather square frame. She was definitely the type of person one should think twice about disagreeing with.

"Why does he say that?" the fourth person said. She was far more noticeably smaller than the other girl and her brunette hair was the longest of any person my age. "My auntie said Slytherin is the worst house."

"Your auntie said," Pansy mocked in a similar voice as the girl.

The girl frowned, but pressed on. "Yeah," she said. "Gryffindor is supposed to be brave. Auntie Amelia said Slytherins are cowards who run away."

"You aunt doesn't know nothing," said the husky girl. "My dad said there's no honor in being brave. What's the use in being brave if you're dead? He said if you retreat when there's no chance of winning, you live to fight another day."

"And my mum said Ravenclaw would never survive in the real world," said Pansy. "She said there's only so much that books and learning can do, and then you have to rely on street smarts."

"Which _all_ Slytherins have," agreed the husky girl. She growled at the petite girl. "I bet you'll be in Hufflepuff, won't you? That's where stupid little girls go."

The little girl crossed her arms and scowled at her oppressor. "So what if I am. I'd rather be loyal than... than evil!"

At that moment, we all, excluding the petite girl, laughed boisterously.

There it was. Didn't I tell you? I had been expecting that answer. She had finally come to the number one reason why students avoid being part of Slytherin. They were convinced they would automatically sprout devil horns if they even associated with the House. But to be honest, I – nor Pansy or the husky witch – would have even denied such things. In fact, after we had ourselves a ripe giggle, we said nothing more - sometimes silence is more telling - to sway her opinion otherwise.

Just a non-verbal affirmation. Just one more misconception passed on to yet another generation.

If you want the truth (which you _do_, otherwise you wouldn't still be reading), that girl's impression was the same as my own. No, the word evil in that context was rarely, if ever, uttered by me or my social circle. We just knew the reputation preceding Slytherin. And, by Merlin's Greasy Balls, we reveled in it. Fucking _bathed_ in the rumors. Why would we ever try to say otherwise? The fear was automatically filled in for us, no questions asked, no effort on our part, just there, like the best damn Christmas present under the tree. And with that fear comes power. Sweet, succulent, palpable power.

Pansy and I were, as you already may know, Sorted into Slytherin, as well as the husky girl, who ended up being Millicent Bulstrode. The petite girl was Susan Bones, who coincidentally would end up in Hufflepuff as we predicted. (Of course, no one with a sense of humor was able to pass up the joke her name so graciously supplied us with. _Knock knock._ Who's there? _Susan Bones._ Susan bones who? _Everyone_. Immature, I know, but damned if it didn't get a laugh every time.) Years later at a class reunion, Bones would admit to me she had purposefully asked the Sorting Hat to place her there to spite the rest of us. She ended up proving our parents' prejudices wrong as she wound up being one of the leading members in the fight against Voldemort and the reconstruction of the Wizarding World following the Dark Lord's defeat. She now currently works just under Granger at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

As for the actual act of Sorting, there's nothing really to remember. The Hat was barely placed on my head before it announced where I was going. To this day, I haven't a clue what the old piece of fabric sounds like. I'm not entirely sure why it didn't bother exploring my mind a bit more. I certainly had the loyalty of a Hufflepuff, the brains of a Ravenclaw, and the strength of a Gryffindor. Perhaps my mind radiated with so much Slytherin perfection that my thoughts were detectable from a distance. Not that I would have even considered protesting its original choice. It's just the principle of the thing.

My son however had to wear the hat on for nearly three minutes before it made its final decision. Scorpius was originally going ask the Hat to place him in any House but Slytherin despite his perpetual proclamations beforehand of wanting to be nowhere else but. It was that same damn dark reputation that turned him away, he said, the same characteristics that attracted me to the House in the first place. He changed his mind somewhere between King's Cross and the Sorting Ceremony. It was the looks he got at the train station – the ones I interpreted as jealousy, he saw as disgust. It was the stories he heard of his old man from others on the train. He was Draco Malfoy's son. Destined for Slytherin. Destined for a life of darkness and - here's that word again - evil. Destined for damnation.

In short, he was ashamed. _Ashamed_. Of _me_. Never – and if I may emphasize – _never_ have I felt shame in my life. Not even when I campaigned vehemently for Snake Eye's glorious return. Not even when I was branded like a House Elf with the Dark Mark. Not _even_ when I raised my wand to kill Dumbledore. I might have realized, _hell_, even _known_, where my choices were leading me. But _Goddammit_, I wasn't ashamed.

When my son – home on his first Christmas break and developing a painfully ironic friendship with Potter's son (Scorpius and Albus. A Malfoy and a Potter. Friends. _Best_ friends. I don't know what cosmic force decided to play _that_ joke on me. Fucking _hilarious_.) – told me all this, a brand spankin' new and unrecognizable feeling was aroused. I had to ask Mrs. Malfoy exactly what I was experiencing. For the first time in my entire life, I was ashamed.

And this is the only time you will ever witness me admit something like that.

I never really told Scorpius about... _then_. You can call that shame if you want. I call it pride. I didn't want him to know, at least not the dirty little secrets. Of course, I rarely censored myself when talking about Potter or Dumbledore. I just didn't... _broadcast _the past to him.

"Daddy," he said to me one day when he was seven. He climbed the peaks of my knees and sat himself comfortably into my lap.

"Scorpius," I responded, placing _The Daily Prophet_ on the table beside my chair.

His gray eyes – so trusting, far more than mine ever were. (I credit that to my wife. I credit _a lot_ to Astoria, by the way.) - peered into mine. _Damn_, I thought, _like looking in the bloody mirror_. Same hair, same color eyes, same facial shape. I expected an innocent request or question, maybe a retelling of one of his favorite stories or a broom lesson, anything but what he actually wanted. He dropped his eyes away from my face and settled them upon my left forearm.

"What is this?" he asked, his words innocuous. He small fingers traced the outline of an almost-but-not-quite faded skull and snake.

I didn't answer him. I changed the subject and moved on. It wasn't that I was ashamed, no, not even close. _You _would think so, wouldn't you? I wasn't. It's just that my son didn't need to know things like that. Not at seven.

He knew. Not at that moment, but over the next four years. He understood what happened all the years ago. Astoria always answered his curious questions in far more, yet safe-for-children, details. Despite the stories, I think Scorpius always looked up to me for what I had to do. Not so though, on that long train ride to school, after he got an earful from a good number of students what they all thought Draco Malfoy was about. Broke his heart. Pissed him off.

He is different than me. Eons different. He didn't like the way Malfoys were perceived. You know, the Muggle-hating, Mudblood-bashing, House Elf-Abusing, Dark Lord-following, always-in-it-for-a-selfish goal Malfoy – which is the story he was told by his fellow train-riders. (Oh yes, let's ignore the fact that Draco Malfoy has done _nothing _in the last 21 years to reinforce those views. I haven't advocated _once_ against Muggleborn rights, House-Elf Liberation, et cetera, et cetera. On the other hand, I haven't went out of my way to counteract those views.) Instead of brewing the anger within him like a potion of fury, Scorpius decided he was going to change what people expected of a Malfoy. So what, he reasoned, if he was in Slytherin. That didn't mean he was going to ascend to a throne of evil. He was out to prove a Malfoy in Slytherin was a good thing.

He avoided me between the first day of school and Christmas break. He sent letters, but I noticed they weren't nearly as detailed as they would have normally been. He had things to work out in his own world. Issues he had with my past. And I let him. I couldn't force him to accept anything. He finally sat down and spoke with me the first night he was back in December and told me everything people had been telling him about me, how he decided to be part of Slytherin and what the Sorting Hat had told him. (Just a warning, keep a look out for Scorpius. He _will _change the world.)

And finally, after four years of avoiding the question, I had an answer for him.

"I am not proud of my former allegiances, Scorpius," I said in the kitchen of the mansion. Astoria was preparing the coming home dinner, pretending she wasn't listening. Scorpius didn't say anything, so I continued.

"The choice I made was the best possible option to ensure my family's safety," I said. "It may not have been what Potter or Weasley would have done, but it was what I did. I wanted to live. I wanted Grandmum and Grandpa Malfoy to live. Who knows, maybe there was another answer..."

I rolled up my sleeve and revealed my arm. The skull-and-snake were still faded, but it was unmistakable.

"I hated it," I admitted to him. "I hated _him _for forcing me into servanthood. But this -" I pressed my palm against the mark. "This is what gave you freedom."

We were fine after that, him and I. He re-discovered his respect for me that day – finally understood that I did what I did to protect the ones I cared about the most.

"Did you see the way everyone _looked_ at him?" I said through gritted teeth.

"Suck it up, buttercup," Theo replied, giving me his wry smile again.

His humor didn't help. As we followed all the Slytherins through the corridors and into the dungeons, I rambled on about Potter and his Sorting. It infuriated me the way everyone was hushed as the Hat was placed on his head. No one, _no one_ said a word as it decided Potter's House. I mean, what the hell could it be saying to him? All the while, I begged silently for the Hat to place Potter anywhere else but Slytherin. Nevertheless, I may have been the only student in the castle still on the subject. Several Snakes were all discussing what might be on the Third Floor.

"I hate him," I muttered again to Theo. "Did you see the way that old hag was treating him? Like a prince."

"That old hag is McGowan , right?" asked Blaise, trying to change the subject since I had been talking about it since we left the Great Hall,

"Aye," answered Theo, as we passed into the Slytherin Common Room. "And I'm pretty sure there's a dick somewhere she can suck."

I would have laughed if I weren't fuming. I also would have noticed the grand architecture as well. The Common room was a long, low room with rough stone walls. There was an immense, elf-carved stone fireplace with flames already hot. A number of tapestries with assortments of skulls, snakes and mysterious figures hung in between each window. The windows, however, didn't show the sky, but the murky depths of the lake. Several lamps glowed green next to the even darker green carved armchairs – not too comfortable for long periods of time, I would later find out. The ceiling was also rather low. This part of the castle, without a doubt, was once used as the dungeons and torture chamber.

We were instructed where our dormitories were. I was roomed with, of course, Crabbe and Goyle, but also Blaise and Theo. I barely even noticed that all our belongings were already in our rooms, at the foot our beds, and everything was decorated in a light shade of green.

"You want some treacle tarts, Malfoy?" asked Crabbe, holding out a bag he must have dug from his trunk. Gotta hand it to Mama Crabbe. Even when her son is bursting at the seams, she won't lay off the sweets.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, pacing back and forth in the room.

"Rooming with these two is going to make me lose my appetite as well," muttered Theo to Blaise.

He pointed to Crabbe and Goyle, who hadn't heard a word they said. Both were inhaling the treats, crumbs were already spread across their beds and on the floor. Over the years, the House Elves needed to work double-shifts just to get the grime and stench away from their living quarters. Not a pleasant sight, I assure you.

"I don't understand," I said for the thousandth time since it happened. "He didn't _do _anything to get so much attention. He just got lucky."

"It's the mystery, that's what it is," said Theo, yawning. "No-auuuuugh-body knows what happened. Personally, I suffer from a whole lot of 'don't-really-care.'" He flopped himself into his bed. "Wow. These feel amazing. And look it, Blaisey is already out."

I paused, glancing at Blaise. He hadn't even taken the time to take off his trainers or pull back the comforter. He was snoring like hell though, his ass nearly straight up in the air. I would have had a laugh had I not been so angry.

"So who was the little dame you were making eyes with?"

I grunted, taking my eyes away from Blaise and back to Theo. He had his hands behind his head and his eyes were closed. His feet were working hard at removing his trainers and socks.

"Who?" I asked, finally being relieved of some of the anger. I found my assigned bed and sat down on it, slowly taking of my shoes as well.

"That girl you shared the boat with," he said, his feet now resting comfortably on the bed, crossed one over the other. "Pansy, wasn't it? Dark hair."

"You answered your own question," I replied, settling back against the pillow. Theo was right, it was comfortable. "And I wasn't making eyes with her."

Theo chuckled. "Right you weren't," he said, yawning yet again. "Just like you weren't afraid of the Bloody Baron."

_Damn Theo. _I barely knew the guy and he was able to pick up on everything single thing that happened to me. Never had I met someone so perceptive. I decided at that moment to keep him at a safe distance. He would certainly be an asset to have around, but I couldn't let him know he was able to read me.

"I was _not _afraid of the Baron," I replied. "I have a weak stomach, that's all. Could barely eat my food with all that blood on him."

"Okay, okay, so you're not afraid of the Baron and you're not hot for Penny..."

"Pansy," I corrected.

"Ah, I knew it!" shouted Theo, jumping up from the bed. He shouted another howl, slightly waking Blaise (well, he at least asked where the troll hid his teddy bear before rolling over onto his side and falling back asleep. That joke was still running fresh every time we told it years later, too.)

"Piss off!" I exclaimed, also sitting up in bed. I reached down quickly and grabbed my trainer, throwing it across the room. It narrowly missed Theo's head. Instead, it made a (_I swear to fucking Merlin)_ hollow sound as it hit Goyle's head.

Goyle grunted, but he didn't say anything at first. He rubbed his temple where the flying object had collided with him.

"Now I can't remember that song anymore," he said, frowning. We gave him curious looks, and he continued. "The one the Hat sanged. It was playing in my head like the radio plays. Now I can't hear it anymore. I liked that song."

"Really?" Theo asked. "Because I bet it sounds even better now."

It wasn't long before we were all asleep. I think I may have been the last one to fall under. I couldn't stop thinking about all the damn attention Potter was already getting. My last thought, as I slipped comfortably into the shadows, was one of malice.

_"I fucking hate Potter."_


	5. 3: Anathema

_In honor of this week's release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, I have prepared this chapter for public consumption. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the others._

_On a different note, I went to the midnight showing of HBP. It was truly, at least for me, the most enjoyable Potter film thus far. I didn't even mind anything they added and agreed with 99 percent of the omissions. I was sorely disappointed with the "Epic Kiss" being changed. Other than that, the rest of the movie met and exceeded my expectations._

_When you review this chapter (which you know you wanna), let me know what you thought of the movie._

_Oh, and if you want to check me out on youtube for daily vlogs, my user name is justtubed. (Be warned though that I have taken a break but will resume shortly)._

_And now, with all that said, the third chapter of "I, Draco."_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**Anathema**

I've never met anyone, past or present, whom I hated as much as Harry Potter (and I doubt I ever will). Coming into Hogwarts, I expected to find a number of people who would make me cringe or cause my skin to crawl, but Saint Potter exceeded those expectations by far. It literally pained me to know I couldn't wrap my Slytherin hands around his scrawny neck and squeeze it until his eyes popped from their sockets. And believe me, I _wanted _to.

It wasn't just one small feature. It was the whole damn package. It was the way people constantly tripped over their own two feet when Potter was around. It was the way teachers stared in awe as he sat down in one of their classrooms. _Everybody_ was paying attention to him. _Everybody_ was hoping to meet him. And there I was, in the background, far more prestigious and dignified than Potter on his best day, and I was getting snubbed.

It didn't help that I seemed completely incapable of beating him at anything in that first year of Hogwarts. Every single fucking time I thought I had the bastard - from the broom he was delivered at breakfast to that damn dragon he smuggled out of the castle - he somehow managed to worm his way out of the situation. And believe me, I tried. I tried my damnedest to make his life miserable. That night out for our Midnight Duel, I almost broke my plan and went out to fight him. Since I had been trained in some simple, yet effective, combat spells, I was torn between kicking his ass or getting him expelled. The need to never see him again won me over. Unfortunately, my plan failed.

(This is another thing that constantly pissed me off about Rowling's books. She made me appear like a complete fuck-up who was never able to beat Potter at anything until that scene on the train at the beginning of our sixth year. The truth is, I bested Potter at a great number of thing and bloodied his nose numerous times over the years.)

I thought I had him when it came time for our broom lessons. Many wizards are taught basic broom-riding skills at an early age and I had been no exception. I was sure the Muggle-raised Potter would take a nosedive when I lured him into the air. How was I supposed to know he would conjure up the repressed memories of riding toy brooms when he was a year old? That day would span years of in-the-air rivalry between Potter and myself. Cho Chang, in a conversation we had years later, would note how talented I was at Quidditch, beating every Seeker every time to the Snitch in my years at the school _except_ for Potter. I had allowed him so far under my skin, causing me to fail at one-upping him in the air.

After that moment, it was like an avalanche of good for Potter but bad for me scenarios. Instead of getting expelled for it, Potter ended up scoring a position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Draco, are you coming?"

I shook myself out of my hatred-for-Potter-induced daydream. Since it was November already, I had been on my way to the Quidditch Pitch for the first game of the season. In twenty minutes from that moment, it would be - _surprise_, _surprise_ - Gryffindor versus Slytherin. I glared at the entrance to the stands, where Theo, who had just spoken to me, stood with the Muscle, Blaise, Pansy, Millicent and a girl named Daphne Greengrass.

"I'm debating," I muttered.

"I thought you wanted to see Potter play, Malfoy," said Goyle, thinking hard about the words I had said days before.

I rolled my eyes in the best Malfoy way. "I said I wanted to see him _fail _at playing, Goyle," I replied.

"Come on, Draco," purred Pansy, flashing a bright smile, which almost convinced me to follow.

Theo held up his hand and silenced the group. He motioned for our fellow Slytherins to keep moving. One by one, they moved through the entrance of the Pitch, leaving Theo and I standing there alone. As a different group of students passed by me, Theo walked to my side.

"Not that I care, of course," said Theo, slapping me on the back, "but if I did, I'd say something was bothering you, even more so than usual."

I didn't answer, because at that moment, two highly attractive girls, one with blond hair and the other with brunette, walked into listening distance. I turned slightly, seeing they were both wearing Ravenclaw colors, but had Gryffindor flags in their hands.

"He's supposed to be really good," said the blond.

"Who did you hear that from?" asked her brunette friend.

"Wood told me," she replied, referencing the Gryffindor Quidditch captain and Keeper Oliver Wood. "Think about it," she went on. "We're about to watch Harry Potter's first game ever."

My throat rumbled with hatred as they left hearing distance. I shifted my eyes from burrowing a proverbial hole in the back of their heads to Theo. There was his answer. He recognized it too and nodded empathetically.

"I don't understand it, Theo," I growled, balling my hands into fists. "What does Potter have that I don't have?"

Theo shrugged. "Glasses?" he answered. "A scar? Fame? A spot on his house's team..." He stopped smirking when he noticed I was not amused. "I see the question wasn't supposed to be answered," he muttered.

"I mean, everyone might as well bow down when they see him," I said. "He can't get in trouble. Snape is the only one with balls to take points from him."

"I get it, Draco," said Theo. "We've been through this."

"If it had been me and you out fighting that troll, we'd be in weeks worth of detention!" I shouted, growing red in the face.

"And if you had been caught by _McGonagall_ on that broom, she would have expelled you, and your father would not have been happy," said Theo, mirroring words I had already used. "I get it, now shut up about it, and let's go watch the game."

"Watching a game with _him _in it is going to be worst thing ever," I growled.

"I've heard stabbing is pretty high up on that list as well," Theo said, nudging my back and pointing toward the pitch. "Let's go. Maybe we'll be luck and Potter will fall off his broom."

I smiled sadistically at the thought. Nothing would make me happier that day. I imagined the Gryffindor on his self-imposed pedestal, falling through the clouds and landing on the bone-crushing ground. At that moment, I had a brilliant idea. I told Theo I'd see him in the Slytherin section and took off toward the locker rooms, hoping to catch up with the Slytherin team before they took to the air.

"You didn't tell me Potter was playing!" I heard a fellow first year exclaim to his friend, as he stared down at a poster that read "Potter for Captain."

I swore loudly as I stopped, only several feet from the locker room. I reached out viciously and grabbed the poster.

"Malfoy!" one of the kids screamed. "Give it back!"

"Do something about it," I replied.

Neither one would. At least not until years later when they grew a few more feet. Back then, Anthony Goldstien and Terry Boot were the smallest Ravenclaws – afraid of their own shadows. It also helped they eventually developed a friendship with one of the toughest and womanizing fuckers of our year, Michael Corner (whose taste for the ladies always seemed to mirror Potter's. Rumor has it he popped Cho Chang's cherry after she came crying to him when Potter broke up with her – right around the time he was dating the Weaselette. But I got to say, you _can't_ believe everything you hear...).

As Goldstien and Boot walked away in defeat, I gripped their poster with both hands and ripped it down the middle. As I ripped up the two pieces into small pieces, I knew they wouldn't dare start a fight with a Malfoy. After I threw them to the dusty ground, the Slytherin Quidditch captain, Marcus Flint, exited the changing room with his broom.

_Just_ the person I was looking for.

Flint was not a pleasant-looking bloke. He had a rigid brow line and was a few hairs short of a unibrow. His two front teeth could give Granger's incisors a run for their money. Not to mention Flint was more of an idiot than Crabbe and Goyle were, which is quite an impressive accomplishment. Nevertheless, despite the looks and lack of intelligence, Flint was a heinous person, which was exactly what I needed.

"Hey, Flint," I called.

He turned to me, with a slightly confused look on his face. To be fair, he only has two looks, the first being that slightly confused one he gave me and other being anger, which is what was next.

"What do you want, kid?" he asked hastily.

"I want Potter to fail miserably," I replied, smiling sadistically.

"Don't we all?" Flint questioned.

"Well," I started, eying my surroundings, "if you can manage to do it, I can manage to make your pockets a bit heavier."

Flint sneered. "How much?"

I thought about it for a second, wondering how much I'd be willing to spend to see Potter smashed into the ground in his first Quidditch game. For a brief moment, my whole inheritance was in jeopardy. I pondered and finally came up with a modest yet acceptable pay-off.

"Ten galleons," I replied.

He scoffed. "Where are you getting that kind of gold?"

I shook my head, irritated he knew Potter's name but not my own. "Look, Flint," I started, "you let me worry about that."

"Flint," called Madam Hooch. We looked over at her. She stood at the entrance to the Pitch, holding her broom next to her. "Get a move on. We're ready to start."

"Calm down, old lady," he yelled, turning back to me. "You must really hate Potter."

"You have no idea," I replied.

He extended his hand, opening his palm. "You've got a deal, kid," he said, but I ignored his out-stretched hand.

"You get your reward when I get mine," I said, turning from the Sixth Year.

"Where were you?" Pansy asked me a few minutes later when I joined them in the Slytherin section. The game had already started and the Gryffindor team had already scored. All Snake ears turned their attention toward me for the answer.

I smirked. "That's my business," I said casually, taking my seat next to Pansy and Crabbe.

Theo, who was seated behind me next to Blaise, leaned in and whispered, "Nature calling, Draco?"

I chuckled. "Something like that," I answered.

He patted me on the shoulder. "Your best mate looks a bit impressive out there, doesn't he?" He pointed skyward at the Gryffindor Seeker, who was in the middle of several loop-the-loops.

My mood had taken a distinct turn since my conversation with Flint. I turned my head slightly and looked at Theo with one eye. "Not for long," I whispered back cryptically, smirking.

"What do you- OH!" he shouted, jumping from his seat. Pansy squealed and grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin.

"What? What? What?" I exclaimed loudly, searching the Pitch for signs of Potter flattened on the ground. "What?" I repeated, looking at Pansy.

"Close call, Draco," she said, rubbing his hands together. "Francis Miller almost hit Potter with a Bludger."

"Damn it," I grunted, disappointed that I had almost missed the collision. I glared at Potter, then to the Beater who threw the ball and missed. Behind Miller, a flint of gold hovered in the air. I nudged Pansy and said, "Look," pointing toward the miniature ball. "There's the Snitch."

"Where?" Pansy asked as Third Year Gryffindor Lee Jordan on commentary reported that Slytherin was back in possession.

"Right there," I said, pointing out the path of the Snitch. My finger followed the golden streak around the sky as it settled directly behind Slytherin Chaser Adrian Pucey.

"I don't see it," she replied.

"Was that the Snitch?" Jordan called out, interrupting our conversation.

We all looked to wherever our Slytherin Seeker was at. Terence Higgs was already in hot pursuit as the golden ball flew past Pucey's ear. Potter was a fast flyer and he was ahead of Higgs in a moment's notice.

"Fuckin' Higgs," I snarled. "I would have had the damn thing by now."

Potter was closing in on the Snitch. I set my jaw, watching the scene play out. _He better not_, I thought acidly. _Fall, you bastard, fall._ Just as he was prepared to grab the Snitch, the Slytherin Captain made the save, slamming hard into the Seeker's path. Potter wavered as his broom spun.

I waited, but Potter held on. As Madam Hooch gave Gryffindor a free shot subsequently leading to another point, I sat there infuriated. I muttered to myself, cursing Flint for not doing his job.

"Draco," said Blaise behind me. When I turned toward him, he asked, "Did you spot the Snitch before Potter and Higgs?"

I nodded. "Of course I did."

"Too bad First Years aren't allowed on the team," said Theo. "You couldn't possibly be any worse than Higgs."

"They made the exception for Potter," I replied.

An older Slytherin in front of me turned around and looked at me. "Higgs is a lousy player," he informed us. "He's the reason we almost lost last year. But, he's also Flint's cousin."

"Loyalty is a Hufflepuff trait," I replied, pulling a galleon from my pocket. Holding the coin up, I rubbed it between my pointer finger and thumb. "This is where Flint's loyalties will lie."

The older boy laughed heatedly. "You _are_ a Malfoy," the older boy said.

Before I could react, the Slytherin section cheered again. Everyone jumped up around me, Pansy pulling me up this time and pointing at Potter. His broom was bucking wildly and I could feel the glee rising up inside me again. Flint was outdoing himself. He must have been desperate for the money if he was willing to illegally tamper with the game.

Practically quivering with excitement as Potter flipped dangerously upside down, I noticed Crabbe beside me was watching the scene through binoculars. I reached over and said, "Let me borrow these, Crabbe."

He complied. "It don't work anyhow, Malfoy," he replied. "Everything is further away."

I shook my head in amusement, turning the binoculars around. "That's because you're looking through them the wrong way, Crabbe," I replied placing the ends against my eyes.

It was a beautiful scene, Potter being so up close and personal that I could literally see the look of confusion and horror on his face as the broom bucked wildly. It carried him high, causing him to dangle by one hand. I was impressed with Flint, but wondered how the hell he was pulling it off so easily without anyone else noticing.

I peered through my binoculars, looking for the Slytherin captain. I found him finally near the teachers' section, fighting over the Quaffle with Angelina and Alicia. He was far too preoccupied to be performing any spells. Surprisingly enough, I noticed a peculiar scene behind them. Snape was staring intently into the air, his lips moving a kilometer a minute. I followed his line of sight and, much to my delight, found Potter, who was still struggling with the broom.

"No shit," I muttered, nearly dropping the binoculars. Did no one else notice this? As the Slytherin section started chanting loudly for the fall, I grabbed Theo by the collar, yanking him to my level. While he protested, I shoved the binoculars into his hands.

"Is there anything in particular you want me to look at or is this just a really shitty, early birthday gift?" he asked.

"What do you see in the teachers' section?" I hissed, eagerly anticipating his reaction.

"Am I looking for anything in particular?" he asked, placing the binoculars against his eyes and searching the stands. "There's _McGonagall_, looking as pleasant as ever. And has Flitwick shrunk? Oh look, there's Quirrell…" He stopped, then lifted his binoculars into the air at Potter, and finally back to the teachers.

"And I thought Qurirrel was an idiot," concluded Theo, handing me back the binoculars. "Good for him, taking his frustration out on your best mate."

"Quirrell?" I repeated, searching for the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Sure enough, the once-stuttering Quirrell was doing the same thing I saw Snape doing, but with absolutely no difficulty speaking. I quickly gave the binoculars back to Theo. "Check out Snape now."

Theo complied. Chuckling, he looked back at me. "I knew Snape hated Potter, I just didn't realize how much."

"Have I ever mentioned how much I love Snape?" I asked, in danger of swooning.

I placed the binoculars back against my eyes and watched Potter fight his hardest to stay upright. His broom, however, was starting to level out. About half a minute later, he seemed to be in complete control. I quickly looked back at Snape, who jumped up. A wisp of smoke drifted from his robes. I glanced around for Quirrell, who was getting up from an apparent fall. It was then I also noticed Granger running away from the teachers, tucking her wand back into her pocket.

So _she_ had seen it too. At that moment, I decided Snape would need my help the next time he decided to sabotage Harry's game. At the following Gryffindor Quidditch game, which would be against Hufflepuff in January, I would keep an eye on Weasley and Granger so Snape would have the leg room to use his dark magic. Snape would, of course, eventually be the referee for that game. Unfortunately, Dumbledore would be there to watch as well, which meant Snape wouldn't dare to do anything with the headmaster present… or so I had been led to believe.

Following Potter's lucky win, his life improved while mine stayed relatively the same, if not worsening. He was living the life I was supposed to be living. People were opening doors for him, patting him on the back for a job-well-done, and begging for an autograph from the World's Most Recognizable Scar. It infuriated me every time I had to witness it.

And there I was, a day after the game, witnessing it again. My Slytherin gang was spending time outside beside the lake, and there he was, strolling across the grounds with a smug look on his face like he owned the fucking place. Weasley was there, living vicariously through him. Granger, too, just happy to have friends who put up with her.

"There he goes," I said, jumping from my seated position against a tree to my feet. "The wide-mouthed tree frog!"

Crabbe and Goyle were the first to laugh, but I'm sure it was becoming habit to either recognize humor or contempt in my voice and react accordingly. I doubted they really got the joke. Pansy and Millicent managed to look up from the Transfiguration book they were studying to chuckle lightly. They just as soon went back to practicing turning a tree limb into a snake. Blaise and Theo, who were chucking an enchanted ball back and forth, hadn't apparently heard me.

I reached down and grabbed the tree limb the girls were using. They protested only slightly, but Pansy fancied me enough already to let it slide. I placed the limb between my legs and acted like it was a broom, bucking as wildly as Potter's had.

"Wood will probably replace him with a frog before the next game," I said, pretending the limb had bucked me off successfully. Crabbe and Goyle continued to laugh. "Good thing Potter has that scar…"

"Otherwise," Theo interrupted, "nobody would be able to tell the frog apart from Potter?" Theo chucked the ball over to me and I caught it. "Let's just forget about Potter for a little bit. The Ravenclaws didn't think the jokes were that funny, and I've grown tired of them myself."

I smiled crookedly. "Whose side are you on, Theo?" I questioned jokingly.

Theo shook his head. "We're in school, Draco," he replied. "We're not fighting a war."

"Besides," said Blaise, signaling me for the ball, which I threw over to him. Theo pointed his wand at it and it came soaring back into his hands. Blaise continued, "Even you have to admit, Draco, that Potter wasn't exactly the worst player out there."

"What?" I snarled.

I looked over at the girls who had just picked the branch back up. They distracted themselves from my comment and were placing their coats on.

"It's getting cold, don't you think?" Pansy muttered.

"Pansy?" I asked. "Milli? What do you think?"

"Well..." Pansy started, avoiding eye contact. "I think he's an ugly bloke and I hate him too."

"And he has those stupid green eyes," replied Millicent.

"What do you think?" I repeated.

"Draco, he was..." Milli gulped. "I mean, he did stay on the broom..."

"I can't believe this!" I shouted. "He got lucky! Am I the only one with brains to figure that out?"

"Malfoy, we agree with you," said Goyle.

"Yeah," Crabbe responded.

"Like I said, I'm the only one with brains to realize Potter got lucky," I said. "And it was cheating, the way he caught the Snitch in his mouth."

"What is it with you and Potter, huh?" Theo questioned, throwing his hands up in the air. "You've been trying to ride his coattails since the train."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

"Hooch's lessons, the broom at breakfast, that stupid duel," rattled off Theo. "You're obsessed."

"I'm not obsessed, Nott!" I shouted.

"Then just let it go, Malfoy," suggested Nott. "You act like you fancy the bloke."

I never whipped my wand out faster on a fellow Slytherin. My magical instrument was pointed so fast at Theo's face that I think he wet himself a little bit.

"Take it back!" I hissed, trembling with rage. By this time, Crabbe and Goyle fulfilled their duties and came up behind me, giving me the intimidation factor I loved. "I said, take it back!"

Theo shook his head, and backed up. "I'm done," he said. Looking at Blaise, he said, "You coming?" He tossed the ball to him, expecting him to come.

Blaise looked between the Theo and myself several times. He realized Theo was one and the rest of us were far more than one. He shrugged and said, "I'm sticking around here, Theo." He tossed the ball back to the departing Slytherin.

As he caught it, Theo nodded emotionless. He turned from my pointed wand and walked away, toward the castle. I still held my wand in the air, scowling at the departing first year.

* * *

_After you comment and review, be sure to check out "Wild Horse" by SlytherinPrincess81. It's a great Snape/Lily moment written by a wonderful, wonderful person and writer (not to mention it was beta'd by a certain JeaLouS author you all know and love dearly)._


	6. 4: Assumptions

_Hello, my fanfiction friends and readers. Just an update or two before we press on._

_Ginny374 has finished the French translation of "In the Words of Ginevra Molly Potter" earlier this month. If you have a chance or you speak/read French, drop by and show her some support. She has also offered to start the French translation for "Destiny Redefined."_

_To update you on the other translations (ChrissiTine_'s _German, __FabyDePotter's __Spanish, xvega's Italian and Gisele Weasley's __Portuguese), I believe they are stuck in limbo and have not been updated recently. I'm not angry or anything, because I completely understand there's the whole time issue. But if anyone wants to pop over to the translation and drop a couple reviews in support of them, I encourage you to do so._

_Furthermore, the audio fanfiction of "In the Words..." being recorded went into the studio in April, but I haven't heard anything lately. I think it's safe to assume the Merrells have been working diligently._

_And last but certainly not least, please check me out on youtube/justtubed. I vlog daily. It might be a good opportunity to grow closer to me and bridge the gap between author and reader. _

_And now, without any more updates, the fourth chapter of "I, Draco."_

**Chapter Four**

**Assumptions**

After I read Rowling's books, several things were confirmed for me. Of those things, there was one subject that I had always believed, but was only validated even more when I closed the last chapter of the first book.

Harry Potter, in all his assumed glory, was a fucking idiot.

The biggest mistake Potter and pals made - one they and Dumbledore would constantly make - is they refused to ask anyone outside their three-person circle-jerk for help. If Potter had simply asked another student if they knew anything about the Philosopher's Stone, there was nearly a one in three chance someone could have provided some kind of information - or at least a rumor.

After all, Dumbledore's scheme depended on people talking about it and spreading the rumors, otherwise Voldemort would not have been lured to the Castle. He made more visits to the board of governors (which my Father had secured a position on the July before my First Year) than he had ever made before, asking for more board approval than he had ever asked for before. He put in several written and verbal requests to move the Mirror of Erised, the Hell Hound and the Stone into the castle, ensuring the information would get out eventually, and making sure Voldemort would hear all about the Stone and its whereabouts.

Unluckily for Potter, he ended up befriending Granger, a Muggleborn with no knowledge yet on Wizarding rumors, and Weasley, who came from a family who kept their lips tighter than McGonagall's bun. Had he befriended, say, Susan Bones, who had an aunt in the ministry, or Terry Boot, whose father was on the board of governors, there would have been little-to-no search.

"_Golly gee, Susie_," Potter would say, "_I think something's being hidden in… oh, it's the Philosopher's Stone, you say? Thanks for saving me months of needless, mind-numbing research._"

Although Potter befriended who he did, Dumbledore improvised. He delivered James Potter's Cloak to Harry when his research project was failing. He convinced Hagrid to whittle Harry that flute for Christmas so he could put the three-headed dog to sleep. He made sure Harry understood how the Mirror of Erised worked. He made sure each of the enchantments guarding the Stone were strong enough, but also made sure to mold them to fit the strengths of the Golden Trio - Weasley with the Chess, Granger with the logic, and Potter with the brooms. Hell, he was even ready for Longbottom, who had shown promise in Herbology at that young age, if he decided to tag along (as he did during my Midnight Duel Challenge) with the Devil's Snare.

The second thing that has been brought to my attention more and more as I read Rowling's books was the mind of Dumbledore, especially after that first installment. What kind of man plans for three 11-year-olds to face a dark wizard possessed by the decrepit, yet still fucking powerful, spectral form of the darkest wizard of our time? He had the fate of hundreds upon hundreds of children's lives in his hands over his many years as an educator and headmaster.

I can't believe he is still considered the greatest wizard of our time.

Days before Christmas break, I was still fuming about Theo. It had been nearly two weeks since he had walked out on us, and I had barely seen him. He would leave before I had a chance to make a smart-ass comment in the morning and wouldn't return to the dormitory before I did, and would already be asleep. Finally, after days of built-up anger for Potter and Pals, and also Theo, I decided to follow him to the library and find out the hell was really his problem.

"Draco, I don't want to talk to you," he said.

I had approached him from behind in hopes to catch him off guard, but he must have heard me coming. Growling inwardly, I took a seat next to him.

"I'm not your enemy, Theo," I said. He didn't look up. His face was stuffed into a book, one of many scattered across the table. "People like you and me have to stick together. Otherwise, people like Potter win."

He still didn't look up. His eyes stopped scanning the words of the page. Shaking his head, he said, "I know why you're here, Draco." His hand now rested on the page he was just reading, ready to turn it. "You're a lonely chap, aren't you?"

Slightly confused because that was not the answer I expected, I replied, "You're wrong, Theo."

"Honestly, Draco, who are you trying to convince?" he asked, _still _looking away from me. "You can't stand Blaise. You can't talk to Crabbe or Goyle. And you can't understand why I walked away from you and your gang."

He paused, closing the book. "You're not used to getting snubbed are you?" he questioned. "And when you do, you obsess. Case in point, Potter."

There have only been two people in my life ever to have 100 percent understood me. One of them is Astoria, who I also initially pushed away, and the other was this eleven-year-old Slytherin. Even though Theo was barely more than a decade old then and had known me less than three months, he was right. With every fucking thing he said to me, by Merlin, he was right. And I hated him for it.

The interesting thing is both Astoria and Theo were in my wedding. Obviously, Astoria was the bride. Theo was the best man. However, it took years for me to realize how much he deserved that title.

"You honestly don't get it, do you?" Theo went on, still with his face looking into that damn book. "You and me, we are a lot alike, but there's a big difference. I don't need people around me, feeding my ego, especially when I think we've been lied to all of our lives."

The anger building up inside turned slightly to confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?" I hissed.

He slowly closed the book he had been reading. It was a blue book, most likely rarely touched by a Slytherin hand during my generation, titled _"Understanding Muggles and Muggleborns."_

"Draco, if you were told all your life that treacle tarts tasted horrible, and you never tried one, would you really know if that was true?"

Ignoring his question, I asked, "Why are you reading this?" I grabbed the book, holding with as little skin touching it as possible, as if it were cursed. When I looked back at the table, I could see two other titles among the pile of books he was reading. One was "_The Theory of Muggleborn Magic_" and "_The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord._"

This time, he ignored my question and went on with his point. "And let's say you tried the treacle tart, and realized it wasn't that bad. Would you still hate it just because you were told to?"

"I'll bite," I replied, placing the book back on the table. "You're right. It would be stupid to not eat something because you were told it was bad. What does this have to do with anything?"

Theo pointed across the library where a stack of books was piled on a table. In the center, seated in the midst of the dusty novels and text, was Granger, her bushy hair far more curlier than the first day we met her. She was diligently scanning pages for some piece of unknown information.

I nearly choked. "Are you saying you... you... fancy her?"

Theo laughed. "No, Draco," he replied slowly. "But I came into this school thinking her kind were worthless."

"They are," I remarked.

"Have you been paying attention at _all_?" asked Theo quietly. "She has the best grades in all the classes we have with her. And I was talking to some other students. She's the best in their classes too. Draco, I'm willing to bet she's the best student in this school."

I laughed condescendingly, patting Theo on the back. "My Father said Muggleborns only have magic because they found a way to steal it from real witches and wizards," I said. "Granger is cheating, that's all."

"Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe our parents are wrong?" he asked. He finally looked at me; his eyes were filled with confusion and doubt. "Maybe your dad doesn't know what he's talking about. Maybe he made a mistake."

That was all it took to piss me off even further. I grabbed the front of his school robes, gripping the material in an angry fist. "My Father," I shouted as we were face to face, "does not make mistakes."

Theo pushed me backward into a book shelf, but my hold on him stayed. The shelf shook, knocking several books from places. As they plummeted to the floor, Theo growled, "According to the books I've been reading, your father made _a lot_ of mistakes."

I'm not even sure where it came from, but my fist was in the air, connecting with his face before I realized anything had happened. A sickening thump erupted from his jaw. He stumbled to one knee, holding his face. I know the impact hurt him, mostly because my fist ached like hell, but he was quiet about it. No moans of pain. No whines of protest.

I stared down at him, my eyes boring holes into his face. My teeth were grinding together in a menacing scowl and air was rushing in and out of my nose like a raging hippogriff. I clamored for my wand. There was no one I hated more in that moment than Theo as I pointed my wand at him.

I never got a spell off. Before I could release, my body stiffened like a board. I lost all control and I tumbled hard onto the Stone floor. My face smacked violently as I realized someone had placed a spell on me. If I could have spoken, I would have been letting loose a series of curses. My anger, as I couldn't move upon the library floor, stewed even more.

It never occurred to me that anyone else had been involved with the curse other than Theo until I heard the far-too-recognizable chipmunk voice of Granger. "Are you okay?" she asked Theo as her feminine shoes stepped right into my line of sight.

Theo didn't answer at first. After a few seconds, he said, "Never been better. You just ruined playtime with my good friend here."

"You're welcome," she said. "We should probably put these books away before Madam Pince notices they fell."

As I heard them picking up the books that had fallen when Theo shoved me into the shelf, an awkward silence accompanied them. It infuriated me how Theo was interacting with her kind, especially after all the clever insults we had created. I inwardly stewed, thinking up extensive acts of revenge for Granger and Theo. As soon as I could move again, she would pay immediately. Theo on the other hand would require a bit more scheming.

"You look a bit short to reach that shelf," said Theo. "Give it here, and I'll put it away."

"Hmm?" replied Granger, barely paying attention now. "You know, I think I might hold onto this one. It might give me a chance for some light reading over Christmas break."

Theo laughed, the first non-awkward moment between them. "Light reading?" he repeated. "That looks like a 1,000-page book. I'd hate to see you doing heavy reading."

Granger chuckled.

Theo went on. "_The Greatest Alchemist Discoveries of the Last Millennium_," he read. "I heard this got great reviews."

They started walking away, chatting about the book, but forgetting about me on the cold floor. After several minutes, Granger's spell wore off. As soon as it did, I stood up and brushed myself off. I looked around. Theo was no longer in the library, his books no longer on the table. Granger however was back at her table, once again reading her books. I charged at her immediately from across the room.

Coming from behind her, I yanked her hair back, pulling her head with it. She cried out as I shoved the tip of my wand against her temple. Hearing her pain and anguish gave me great happiness.

"I warned you, you damn, little Mud-"

"YOUNG MAN!" cried a voice and I froze. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"Damn it," I whispered as Madam Pince approached. I stared down at the table in defeat, but at the same time, noticed the parchment Granger had in front of her. I eyed it carefully. Written on the top were the words "Books Nicolas Flamel is not in" with a long list of titles following.

I let go of Granger and faced the librarian. "I had a question about homework," I said smugly.

Pince pointed savagely away from the table. "You can ask someone else," she said. "Now get away from Ms. Granger."

I took a look back at Granger, expecting her to be a weeping mess. She wasn't. In fact, she looked completely different from the first time I interacted with her on the train. I scowled and then walked away, but I didn't leave the library. Curiosity got the better of me. Why was this curly-haired freak so interested in finding Flamel? More importantly though, when was Pince going to leave so I could perform my inhumane acts of revenge?

I maneuvered myself behind book shelves until I was close enough to Granger, but still out of sight. Unfortunately, before Pince could stop paying attention, Potter and his big-eared sidekick arrived at the table.

"Have you found anything yet?" asked Weasley, taking a seat beside Granger. He picked up the book she had just borrowed from Theo and started flipping through the pages.

"It's not going to be in that one," Granger said ironically, taking the book back and slipping it into her bag. "I wish you two would help me more."

"That's why we're here," said Potter, taking his seat across from the Bushy and Red Hair Combination.

"I don't know where else to look," said Granger in an irritated tone. She peered across the room, motioning toward the restricted section. "I just _know_ Nicolas Flamel is in one of those books we're not allowed to read."

"I have an idea," said Weasley. "Since Dumbledore isn't leaving for Christmas, Snape isn't going to try anything spotty. Why don't we take this last day before the holiday and relax?"

Granger and Potter were quiet for a second. It amazed me how much Potter tried his damnedest not be a normal child, how he always went out of his way to appear older and more distressed than he really needed to be. It wasn't his responsibility to protect the world. Dumbledore had it all under control. But could he leave it up to someone more powerful and prepared? I think you know the answer.

"Let's keep looking," Potter replied finally. "Just for a little bit."

"I agree," said Granger, grabbing the nearest book on the table. She opened it to the table of contents and started skimming through the words. "By the way," she said, not looking up, "I want you to be extra careful during holiday, Harry. Snape will probably be staying in the castle during break."

"I'm not exactly going to invite him into Gryffindor Tower for presents and tea, am I?" Harry asked with a stupid grin on his face. "He could join Malfoy and Voldemort. I invited them over too."

Weasley laughed, but Granger wasn't as easily humored.

"That's not funny," she said. "We already know Snape is willing to kill to get whatever Nicolas Flamel has in the castle, so he must know you're trying to stop him."

"Okay, okay, I get it," Potter said. "Where should we start looking?"

Granger picked up the paper I had glanced at and showed it to Potter and Weasley. "These are the subjects and titles I have already looked through," she said. She then flipped to another piece of parchment.

"These are the ones we should look through today."

"There isn't time to look through these in a hundred days," Weasley muttered, but obliged. He headed my way, and I quickly maneuvered myself out of sight, and across the room where he wasn't.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

I thought Pince had once again found me, but I realized she was talking to Potter in the other aisle near the restricted section.

"Nothing," Potter replied.

"You'd better get out then," she yelled. "Go on – out!"

As Potter and pals exited the library, I processed the new information I had learned from the Golden Trio. I knew Snape had been trying to kill Potter, but I thought it had just been because he hated him as much as I did. It was quite interesting that Snape was seeking Flamel's Stone as well. But why?

To learn the answer before I left for the holiday, I immediately went to Snape's office. Arriving in the cold dungeon at his door, I knocked on the large, wooden door. There was no answer, but the door was open a crack. I pushed it open, hoping to see Snape sitting at his desk, but there was no one. I was about to leave, but observed an envelope next to a stack of papers.

I stepped closer. At this proximity, I noticed it was the Malfoy Family Seal, meaning it must have been from my Father. And I remember correctly, the contents of the letter, according to the seal, could only be seen by a Malfoy and its intended reader.

Once again, my curiosity took over. I grabbed the letter and sat down in one of the side chairs Snape had in his office for guests. I pressed my thumb against the seal, causing the envelope to open easily. It was from my father.

_Severus_

_There have been many rumors circulating that someone inside the castle has been attempting to steal Flamel's Stone. No one is saying it aloud, of course, but everyone is whispering to each other that the Dark Lord himself has attempted the coup. You and I both know such rumors are ridiculous. The Dark Lord would be in no state to do such a thing, which is why I am sure he must have someone on the inside. My instincts tell me it would have to be a former servant in a key position to do His bidding. Who do you think it could be, Severus?_

_I have been working extra hard to rid the castle of the dangerous magical items and animals Dumbledore has brought in. Dumbledore claims it all needs to be present to protect the Stone, but I disagree. My son could wander and meet that Cerberus or that damn troll. And we all know what the Mirror of Erised can do to a person. Getting rid of those things may very well make it easier for the Dark Lord's servant to reach the Stone, but I myself am willing to take that risk to protect the safety of the children._

_Even having the Stone in the castle is a breach of safety. That is why I have been calling for the resignation of Dumbledore for willingly and intentionally placing the school in a position of compromise…_

"Your father is an honorable man, isn't he?"

I looked up from the letter. Snape was standing in the doorway, staring at the letter in my hands. He walked toward me and took the letter from my hands. When he was finally seated on the other side of the desk in his chair, he placed the letter back inside the envelope.

"What do you mean, sir?" I asked.

"Lucius is willing to take away several of the most powerful protectors of the Stone in order to keep you and your fellow students safe," replied Snape. "As I said, honorable."

Even though I had read only a portion of the letter, it was all starting to make sense. Just as Potter thought, my Father thought the same thing: Snape was trying to steal the Stone. My Father was far more subtle with his assumption, not coming right out and asking, but it was there. And what's more, my Father was working hard to help Snape in his quest for the Stone, campaigning to rid the castle of its strongest protections.

I hadn't known why Snape was interested in the Stone, but after reading the letter and remembering what they had talked about on my birthday, it made sense.

Snape was working for the Dark Lord again.

"Let me help you," I whispered.

"Very well," he said, his cold eyes barely blinking as he watched me anxiously move up in my seat closer to the edge. His hand outstretched toward the corner of the room, where a large pile of papers were unorganized within a box. "You may begin by sorting last week's tests into years and houses, then alphabetically."

I stood up quickly, annoyed that he was missing the point. "I don't want to help you with your schoolwork, Professor."

He placed his elbows on the table, entwining his fingers directly below his chin. "What, pray tell, Draco, do you want to help me with then?"

I backed up toward the entrance to his office, placing my hand on the large, wooden door and shoving it shut. It closed with a soft thud and I returned to my chair.

"I want to help you get the Philosopher's Stone," I whispered.

Snape chuckled. "I see you have joined Potter and his delirium. I would have expected more from you," he said.

"My Father said you were..." I said, pointing to the letter.

Interrupting, Snape said, "Your father said _someone_ is trying to steal the Stone."

"Please, professor," I replied. "I may be young, but I'm not stupid."

I thought that would be the only necessary explanation, but Snape waited.

"Professor," I said, placing my hands on his desk, "I know you're after the Stone. I know you want it for the Dark Lord so he can use it to return to full power. Don't you see, if you help him, then you'll be praised, so if I help you get it to him, then I'll be praised too."

Snape no longer found me amusing. All evidence of such an emotion had been wiped from his face. This time, I couldn't read his features.

"That, Draco," he said slowly, "is best kept to yourself."

"Let me help you!" I repeated. "Potter already suspects you. If you won't let me help you get the Stone, at least let me get him off your trail. I'll try to get him expelled. I'll… I'll watch over his friends at the next Quidditch game so you can finish the job without them interfering again. I want to do something."

"Draco, you are swimming in waters far too deep for you," said Snape, rising slowly from his chair. "I suggest you forget this conversation." He stood and walked toward the door, placing his hand on the doorknob. "Have a pleasant holiday, Draco."

"No one else in this castle will help you steal the Stone!" I shouted.

Snape opened the door. Surprisingly, there stood Quirrell, nervously looking at Snape.

"Y-y-ou wanted to s-s-see m-m-me, Severus?" he asked. He noticed me sitting at the desk. "If this is a b-b-bad time, I can come back l-l-later."

"Nonsense, Quirrel," said Snape, ushering the professor in. "Mr. Malfoy was just leaving." Turning toward me, he added, "Weren't you?"


	7. Missing Portion 1

You are going to hate me. Like, really, you are.

I am going to apologize right off the bat and say that these two updates are not going to make you happy. I am not likely returning to this story any time in the near future. I have just had these two scenes laying around in my computer and I was tired of seeing them go to waste.

The first one takes place during Christmas of Draco's first year.

The second would take place at the end of Draco's first year, right after I would have had him witness Voldemort attached to Quirrell's head shortly before Quirrell went in after the Stone.

I wish you wouldn't hate me. In fact, if you enjoy my writing style, I'd like to invite you as I participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in which I attempt to write 50,000 words this month on a novel. You can find me on the site as thejealousone. I will also be posting the story on fictionpress under the same name. If you'd like to continue to support me in my writing, feel free to follow me on Twitter and Tumblr (again: thejealousone), and you can also stay updated with my life on YouTube under the name "Justtubed."

"Draco!"

And before I could barely place my bags upon the ground, my mother had scooped me up in her arms and was embracing me. I allowed her a quick embrace, then waited until she started placing kisses on my cheeks to squirm away. Noticing my uncomfortable demeanor, she let me go, already missing me.

"Draco, you must tell me all about these last few months, since you refused to write me," she said, taking the bag from my hands and placing it in Dobby's elf fingers, which were already full from other luggage from our trip home.

"Should Dobby start preparing supper?" the elf asked Mother.

She nodded. "Make Draco's favorite tonight. You are excused."

"Dobby thanks you, he does, missus," said the elf as he disappeared.

Mother turned back to me, placing an arm around my shoulder and leading me away from the front door. "It's nice to have my son home. It's been lonely around the mansion. Your father has been extremely busy with his new position."

I nodded. "I heard," I replied. "He's right, you know. As a student, I fear for my own safety when those horrid creatures and objects are in the castle."

She took a seat in one of the sitting room comfortable chairs. As I sat across from her, she replied, "It doesn't surprise me you would agree with your father. You always have taken his side, no matter the issue."

"Father is usually right about things, isn't he?"

Mother nodded, but didn't say yes. "Your Father is a smart man, Draco, but don't make the mistake of thinking he's always right," she said slowly. She crossed her legs stiffly. "No matter. What did you think of Dumbledore?"

"The Old Man?" I questioned, smirking. "I don't quite understand what all the fuss is about him..." I trailed off, hearing voices coming from the direction of Father's study. I gave Mother a questioning look.

"Your Father is conducting a meeting right now," she said, motioning to the door. "He wanted me to send you in straightaway when you arrived."

I turned from her and walked toward the room. As I neared Father's study, I could hear muffled voices within. I recognized the calm, collected, and proud articulation of Father, but I couldn't place the second voice. It was rough, yet in a weak sort of way. They were not arguing, but the tone relayed perfectly this was no conversation of agreement. It wouldn't have caught me off guard to hear raised voices at any moment.

I pushed the door open without knocking. As the wooden entrance opened before me, I noticed Father standing at the fireplace, his arms crossed. He glanced away from his conversation and set his eyes upon me. He slightly grinned, which I knew as a sign that I was allowed to listen to the exchange. I think he did this to teach me how to deal with my inferiors.

"Your personal vendetta against the Headmaster is quite disturbing," said the mystery voice.

I curiously peered over the couch, seeing a red-headed man's face in the flames. Surprisingly, he looked sickeningly similar to Potter's sidekick. Besides the obvious, Arthur Weasely, as I would soon learn, had the same big ears and freckles as his youngest son had. Despite not being the same person as his kin, I couldn't stop the disgust from stirring and transferring to this new face.

Weasley momentarily looked at me, but paid little more attention to me during the remainder of the conversation. I took notice how it was Weasley, not my father, who had subjected himself to the servant-like position of the Floo Network, on his hands and knees, literally bowing to the blond-haired man before him. My Father, I'm sure, would have had it no other way.

Weasley continued, "Dumbledore has efficiently run Hogwarts for years, and it should be..."

"You have misinterpreted my actions," Father said coolly.

I took a seat on the closest chair, noticing both Weasley and Father were wearing the same color robes. It was the hue of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Father had successfully campaigned before school commenced for an open position as a school board director. Weasley campaigned as well and subsequently won the other open seat on the board.

The board consisted of eleven members, which made most of the decisions concerning the school. In recent years with the Old Man as Headmaster, the board had partially relinquished some of the decision-making in favor of trusting Dumbledore. Major decisions however, such as tuition costs and other financial issues, still remained with the board.

"As I have stated numerous times at the monthly board meetings, my concern is for the students, especially my son," said Father. "The magical objects and creatures are considered highly dangerous. I would think you, of all people, would want to protect your family from such things."

"You're twisting my words, Lucius," said Arthur. "I'm not sure what your game is, but as long as I am on the board, my vote will continue to favor Dumbledore."

"You don't have as much pull as you think you do," replied Father..

"And neither do you," shot back Arthur. "You're just as new to this school board as I am."

"I have more influence than you could ever dream," muttered Father. "Tell me, Arthur, your last child will be going to Hogwarts next year. How many children would that make?

"Five," he answered.

"That's expensive enough to destroy even a middle class family," said Father, pouring himself a drink.

"Arthur, surely you're struggling, otherwise you would not have taken this thankless job where you are paid sickles."

"My financial situation is no concern of yours..."

"It is my concern," said Father, sipping his drink and choosing his words carefully. "I would not like to see a fellow board member struggling to make ends meet. What can I do for you, Arthur?"

Weasley hesitated, his muggle-loving mind turning the words over. It was obvious what my father was offering. If Weasley would simply step off his high hippogriff and help my father, my father would gladly help him back. All the needs of the massive red-headed clan would be taken care of. Their school supplies, their debt, their housing costs – everything. And all he had to do was agree with my father when it mattered most.

"Do you honestly think my morals can be bought?" asked Weasley in disbelief. "I know you were a horrible person, but I didn't realize how much. Is this what you're doing with the other board members?"

Father smiled. "That is no concern of yours," he said. "I assure you, Weasley, think about this decision carefully, or you will not be on the school board much longer."

"Are you threatening me?" Weasley shouted.

"This conversation is over. Remember what we talked about," said Father, pointing his wand at the fireplace. In an instance, the flames returned and Weasley's head disappeared into the coals.

His drink had been depleted and he walked to the stand nearest to him. Grasping the half empty bottle of wine to pour into his goblet, he said, "Draco, I assume your recognize the foul stench that is a Weasley by now?"

I laughed, watching the liquid fall from the bottle into his glass, splashing small droplets over the side. "I could smell it from the hallway," I replied.

"That was Arthur Weasley, the father of the whole litter," he replied, placing the bottle back on the stand it was on. "Have you had to deal with his sons this school year so far?"

"Too many times to count," I replied. It was times like these that I always appreciated the most from my father – when he treated me like an equal and actually had a conversation with me. "He is friends with Potter, and the Idiot-Who-Lived isn't exactly my best friend."

Father sipped his drink and watched me carefully. "Yes, I had heard Potter and the Weasley whelp had formed a friendship. It is a shame Potter was not interested in more appropriate company. I suppose it's not surprising. His father was the same way, marrying that mudblood."

While he spoke, he had taken his wand from his pocket and had conjured a parchment. I noticed the Hogwarts seal on it and curiously look at him.

"Since I am now a school board member, I am privileged enough to receive copies of student ranking before they are sent home," he said.


	8. Missing Portion 2

I awoke several hours later. It certainly wasn't my own bed. As I stared into the ceiling, I felt pain in my head. I must have hit something when I fainted. I grunted, rubbing the top of my skull and wincing slightly at the pain. It was no big deal, I decided. I've been through worse.

"It's good to see you awake, Draco."

I turned and stared into the face of Severus Snape. He was standing between me and another occupied bed. I positioned myself and looked around the professor, only to recognize the unruly, dark hair of Potter. For some reason, he was sharing a bed next to me in what I presumed to be the hospital wing. He was breathing normally, but he didn't seem to have any visible ailments.

I looked back into Snape's dark eyes, suddenly remembering everything all over again. I remembered the nauseating scene I had just witnessed hours ago, wanting, needing that image not to be of the Dark Lord. Surely Voldemort was far more prestigious than the creature attached to the back of Quirrel's head, surely all the dignified images I've imagined were the correct interpretation of the most powerful wizard of our time. He couldn't be that… the creature was weak, dependent on others for its survival…

And then I realized who the creature was attached to. It had been leaching off of Professor Quirrell. I recalled what it had been saying too, about stealing the Stone to come back to power. It was Quirrell, not Professor Severus Snape, that had been seeking the Stone all year. Snape was… _no, no, no, how could I have been mistaken?_

"Professor," I started slowly, "It wasn't you… but… I saw… you were…"

"Perception and reality, Draco," the man said, "are two entirely separate things. One cannot always believe what their eyes see."

I ignored the small, throbbing pain in my skull and sat up on the edge of the bed. "You… weren't trying to kill Potter?" I questioned slowly, pointing to the boy in the bed.

His lips twitched, almost as if he was hiding a smile. "As tempting as that sounds," he replied, "I daresay if I had committed murder on school grounds, I would be forfeiting my retirement benefits."

I shook my head, trying my best to understand, to piece together all the puzzle pieces I had been given this year. Slowly, it all began to fit, but the picture I expected to see was not visible.

"Professor Quirrell…?" I said, attempting for it make sense. "It was… Quirrell?"

"I was equally as shocked as you were," replied Snape, this time smiling amusingly. "Remember, however, that he was not working alone, so credit is not fully his own."

I shuddered, once again remembering the scene I had just witnessed. "Professor, was that…?" I started, not wanting to really know. "_Was_ that the Dark Lord?"

"Dumbledore seems to think so," Snape answered quietly.

I gulped. "You were working against him," I said, not meeting Snape's eyes.

Snape cleared his throat. "Draco, to my knowledge, Quirrell was nothing more than an avaricious wizard seeking immortality and wealth. I was unaware of the presence of any other dark wizards."

"And if you did know?"

I waited eagerly for the answer for what seemed like a lifetime. The question was never answered that day and it would continue to be a mystery for years to come. As my anticipation grew, we were interrupted by someone entering the room.

"Severus," came the recognizable voice of Albus Dumbledore, "how is the boy?"

I was under the impression that the Old Man was referring to me. However Snape, turning to look Potter, was apparently not in the room watching over me. Turning from Potter to Dumbledore, he said simply, "Alive."

"That is all I can hope for at this moment," said Dumbledore softly.

"I predict another 30 hours until he is well enough for Madam Pomfrey to take over," said Snape.

"Thank you, Severus," the Old Man said. "I know this must be difficult for you."

Snape said nothing else. It was strange to me, after all this time, realizing that Snape was not out to kill Potter. He was staying awake in the early morning hours to take care of a student he despised. Or had that all been an act as well?

"Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore. "Now that you're awake, there are some things I'd like to discuss with you." In the faint light of the room, he motioned for me to follow. "Of course, if you're still feeling less than 100 percent, I understand."

Snape turned his head a fraction back to check my reaction. I touched my head, wincing slightly at the pain, but didn't want to appear weak. I rose from the bed, slowly following the headmaster from the hospital wing.

"Dumbledore," I said, exiting the door with him. "What happened?"

"You know about as much as I do, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "We will both have to wait until Mr. Potter is both conscious and alert, something I'm sure you're actively worried about."

I shook my head. "When I asked, that is not what I wanted."

"Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, what is it that you want?"

I looked strangely at him, wondering exactly what his question meant. As usual, there was a hidden motive in the inquiry and I hated him for it. Finally, I replied, "I'm not sure I understand your question."

"Your ambitions, young man, your ambitions," he said, an odd twinkle in this eye. "You are a Slytherin. Surely you have some kind of ambition."

I didn't know what kind of game the Old Man was playing, so I decided not to answer. We passed through the hallways side by side, walking slowly. It must be nearing breakfast, because I felt my stomach rumble.

"If you don't know, I'm sure you won't mind if I venture a guess," he said, his hands clasped behind his back. When I once again didn't answer, he continued, "All year, Mr. Malfoy, you have been looking for a place, a purpose, if you will, in this school. You wanted so badly to be special, to have others remember your name."

I grinned. "So far, so good, Professor," I muttered.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I've followed your journey closely, studying you, trying to understand what exactly is was that you needed," he went on. "And what fascinated me the most, far more than your constant rivalry with Mr. Potter, was your seemingly blind devotion to Lord Voldemort."

I stopped abruptly.

"Or, at least, your idealist vision of what you think Voldemort is," he said, stopping a half meter away from me. He looked back, waiting patiently. "Your father has given you a crude sketch of what Voldemort was, but he has done you an injustice to not provide you with all the colors of that sketch."

"Don't talk about my father," I hissed. "He's a good man."

"He could be a good man," Dumbledore said as my patience wore thin. "He certainly has the power and talent to be, but he lacks the courage."

"My father told me about you," I said, changing the subject slightly and scowling at the headmaster. "He told me how you were going to use Potter when he was a baby to kill the Dark Lord."

"And did Lucius inform you what Voldemort wanted to use you for?"

I gritted my teeth so hard, it hurt. "You lie," I whispered.

"Oh," said Dumbledore casually, continuing through the hallway. I immediately started following. "Voldemort doesn't sound like the type to you? Tell me, do you know what happened to Professor Quirrell tonight?"

I shook my head.

"Voldemort abandoned him, at first sign that Qurrell could no longer serve a purpose, and at first sign that Voldemort himself might face another, more costly defeat."

"What's your point, professor?" I asked.

"My point, Mr. Malfoy, is while Voldemort promises great rewards to his followers' success, he also shows great punishment for their failures," he said. "He does not value human life or family ties. He does not value the things you yourself hold most dear."

"And what is that?" I questioned curiously.

He didn't answer the question directly. As we neared the entrance hall, he lips widened, as if he knew some sort of secret. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy," he said after a moment's silence, "Have you ever heard of the Mirror of Erised?"

I nodded slowly, wondering what the hell this had to do with our conversation. "My Father said it was in castle," I said.

"And right he was," replied Dumbledore. "I managed to borrow the Mirror from the Department of Mysteries for the whole term. Did your father happen to tell you what it does?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Well, it's a powerful magical instrument invented by Nicholas Flamel and myself many years ago," he answered. "It was at a time in both our lives when we were searching for answers. We created the mirror to answer life's most puzzling question of why. Rather though, as a peculiar side effect, the mirror reflects what a person truly wants the most in this world."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"I've been most curious all year what you would see should you have run across the mirror," he said. "At first, if I had to predict, I'd say you would see Voldemort's return, you at his right hand, especially with your relentless campaign to assist Professor Snape in what you thought was his own quest for power."

I gritted my teeth, wondering how the hell this man knew so much about my life.

"I realized though as I watched you, though your allegiances might be questioned, I believe your priorities are in the right place. You, Mr. Malfoy, are highly devoted to your family, isn't that right?"

I nodded.

"Well then, I have an idea of what you would see in the mirror," said Dumbledore.

"And what's that?" I questioned, looking inquisitively at the Old Man.

I stopped as Dumbledore stopped. We had reached the entrance hall, but there was a large mirror standing in the entranceway, seemingly ready to be taken away from the castle and back to its home in the Ministry.

"I suppose it's not important what I think you'll see, but rather what you yourself think you will see," he said, extending his hand toward the mirror, giving me permission to view it.

I took a step closer to the mirror, reading the strange words on top of the framing. It truly was a beautiful object and I wondered why my Father had wanted it taken from the castle. As I took another careful step forward, Dumbledore said more.

"I assume you will most likely dismiss most of my words and lesson in the years to come," he said from behind me. "But please, I implore you, remember one thing. A person must chose his own path, or have it chosen for him."

I stepped finally in the view of the mirror, noticing myself looking back from the glass. I held my breath, anticipating what image would reflect on the surface.

Well, I'll be damned.


End file.
